Angles
by Coco-Minu
Summary: At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second. RoyxRiza one hundred themes challenge drabbles.
1. Military Personnel

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **001. Military Personnel**

Dedication: momiji-k, an unthanked and brilliant constructive critisiser of Pocketwatch. Thankyou for the wonderful review.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Armstong would wear a wonderbra.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**001. Military Personnel**_

* * *

Their rythmn was a routine.

It would arise with a tap. _Tip, tap. Tip, tap._ The steady beat of Lieutenant Heymans Breda tapping his fingers on the metal canteen table of the mess hall from sheer boredom. His eyes would shift upwards, looking at Roy then to Riza. Over, over and over until they both felt as though he was doing it on purpose.

Then would come the steady sound of breathing. _In, out. In, out_. The smooth sound of Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc would come as he took long drags from a cigarette which was non-existant most of the time, yet some felt inclined to still imagine was there. He would look up, smiling at them lopsidedly and spontaneously. Neither knew what to say.

A small shift of a seating position would come, then the sound of pushing glasses further up a nose to prevent them from completely slipping off. _Flick. Flick. Flick_. It would distract them both into looking up, wondering where it was coming from. Once in a while meeting the eyes of one another, but then looking away quickly once more in hope of finding an inanimate object to be a distraction. Sergeant Kain Fuery would smile at this predicament he created each time.

A click of knuckles. _Crunch, click. Crunch, click_. Major Alex Louis Armstrong would pull at his fingers, making sure that his fingers were not stiff from his fork being poised in the same position for such a long time as he had paused from thought and the food had never quite managed to travel to his mouth. She was sure he would get athritis because of that habit one day. So was he, although he would never admit she was right.

The Warrant Officer Vato Falman would make no noise, just watching his companions as they made a rythmn of the usual noises one heard in a day spent with them. He remained silent, knowing that there was one thing missing. The sound of a _click_ when a camera flashed, or moving material when a certain man had shoved pictures of his child under their noses. Although he had annoyed them slightly, he knew that they all missed him. So he would honour him with his silence.

Then she would leave the mess hall in annoyance, to return back to the steady rythmn of _shuffling_ his unfinished paperwork and every so often he would follow her. He did not even know why he did so. But every so often, he would look up from his desk at her face calming after the storm as she shuffled papers quietly and began to create her own rythmn. Seeing her looking so at peace with herself, tranquil in her own little world where nothing could harm her. Because she was Riza Hawkeye, master sniper. He was Roy Mustang, the flame alchemist. He would never let anything happen to her, or so she hoped. It was definately in those moments he knew why he followed her, he thought with a crafty smile as he walked over to her desk.

For the rythmic sound she would make as she _gasped_ when he tried to kiss her yet again, not really caring that he was breaching the code of conduct. Breaking professionalism.

The military personnel would never achieve the same rythmn as them.

He knew that for a fact.

* * *

Well, I finally started my RoyxRiza one hundred themes. I know this title currently makes no sense, but it all shall in due course. Only ninety-nine drabbles left out of one hundered. I like those odds.

Preview for theme two: _Although she liked her aim and loved her weapons like children, she never grew quite accustomed to the sound of a gunshot._

Reviewers are loved.


	2. Gunshot

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **002. Gunshot**

Dedication: Ru-Doragon, thank you for your review of Pocketwatch. Yes, I am aware that Riza was in Ishbal as a sniper. I am also aware that they do not live in our universe. It's an AU, I just like to mix things up a bit. Maybe I am just twisted like that.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would own a travelling firework show.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

_002. Gunshot

* * *

_**

A loud _bang_ rang out.

Roy looked up, seeing Riza had hit the centre of her target with precision. She did not seem to take it to heart that all of the gunslingers of the military were being reassesed to check their level of skill. Major General Hakuro raised an eyebrow as Roy coughed beside him, in an attempt to get her to look at them for a second. To reassure Hakuro that it was not just luck. She raised her gun a second time, aiming carefully at the centre at a speed almost showing her movements as liquid. Centering the weapon, she emptied the bullets into the target centre with a quick sucession of shots.

With perfection.

The Major General looked at her a moment as she removed the headphones, placed them on the top of the table in front of her, and handed her pistol over for inspection to Second Lieutenant Maria Ross who quickly placed on the safety switch before handing it to him. Roy watched him look at the weapon a moment cautiously, then check that there was not a problem with the mechanics inside of the manmade weapon. To his suprise, it was the same as every other weapon in the military. So it was just her who was extraordinary. Nobody had expected any of the soldiers to be able to fire with such precision.

"Tell me, First Lieutenant Hawkeye. Have you ever considered branching into a different area instead? Your aim is excellent." He told her, and Roy could not help but notice her eyes light up with thanks at the recognition. If only for a second, as it was fleeting. It was gone as soon as it had came. He looked at her, seeing her smile composedly at her peer. It was clear that she would not, although she would not raise her voice to tell him so. He bade them a good day, then ushured to the door with Maria following him. She smiled. A clear pass.

"So, Riza. Why did you not move on to bigger and better things like so discreetly suggested? Could you not stand to leave me alone for one second?" Roy teased, looking at her cheerfully. Her smile fell. Although she liked her aim and loved her weapons like children, she never grew quite accustomed to the sound of a gunshot. That was her planned answer.

"I do not like the sound of a gunshot." She told him simply. He looked confused, and she knew that it was clear that she was lying. Why would she dislike the sound of a gunshot? She was the best shooter in this whole establishment, or so it seemed likely.

"_Sure_, that is not a lie at all Hawkeye. Do not fear, I know it is really because you could not stand to leave me. You just _love_ me too much." He proclaimed obnoxiously. After all, she did not need to know he emphasised the word love just so slightly that she might hear it.

"_Love_ is a word I would not connect with you. It would be lazy. You still have not finished that paperwork from last week." She chided him, ignoring the word love as best she could. She looked up at his grinning face in irritation. He was trying to annoy her.

Then as if to prove it, he planted a firm kiss upon her lips.

"_Really?_" Roy asked, then laughed as he left the room to himself. She could feel her cheeks burning, and she swore under her breath at the infuriating Colonel.

But she had to admit, hating the sound of a gunshot was a pretty terrible excuse.

* * *

Well, did not like that chapter all that much. It seemed a bit too fluffy to me, although I could just see Roy in my head infuriating Riza like this. Why did I update so quickly? I cannot stand having just one chapter on a fanfiction unless it is a oneshot. Ninety eight of one hundred left, and I still like those odds.

Preview for theme three: _So there he sat, in the middle of the battlefield. Shouting out her name into the cold night air like it would prove her existance._

Reviewers are loved. Reviews give you a warm fuzzy feeling inside. :)


	3. Battlefield

Summary: At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second. 

Theme: **003. Battlefield**

Dedication: Yun Min, the final person to thank for reviewing Pocketwatch. Thank you very much. I am glad there is another UK anime fan out there too.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would like his puppies stirred (not shaken).

* * *

**Angles

* * *

_003. Battlefield

* * *

_**

Roy somehow always managed to end up in the middle of a battlefield.

It was not that he was careless, or that he was on some kind of insane suicide mission. It was not that he had not planned what he was going to do, how the infantry were going to move in without an alchemist on the front line before any of them. It was not that he had no strategy, or that he simply chose to disobey the orders from his peers. No, it was none of these things. It was that _Riza_ managed to end up there before him.

She always said her excuse was the same thing. She needed a better advantage point. Although like the name Hawkeye suggested, she had the eyes of a hawk, she was not that brilliant at sharpshooting that she could hit a target that was part the range that the bullet could travel. Nobody could. Personally, he just thought it was a tiny flaw and that her excuse was always the truth. After all, his right-hand woman would never lie to him.

Yet when he had to run into the middle of a battlefield yet again, grab her hand firmly and drag her out from the line of enemy fire she could get the 'advantage point' from for nearly the tenth time in a street fight he had been rather unhappy about it to say the least.

"Hawkeye, do you intend to get yourself _killed_?" He asked bluntly, and she had looked up at him with those crimson eyes. Pleading, saddening. She smiled, her pink lips forming into a cold smile. Her skin was so pale, it was almost as though she was nonexistant. So beautiful.

"You forget, Sir. The duty of a soldier is to fight." She told him sweetly, if not a little too much so. He searched for something in her eyes that would give her away, showing the smiling happy Riza he could remember as a child. Where had her innocence gone? His charcoal black orbs searched for something in her expression, some form of happiness at those years that had passed so long ago. But he found none.

"No, it is not. Riza, do not die. _I_ _love_ _you_,far too much. " He told her, silently adding he would not know what he would do if she did. She smiled again, placing a bittersweet kiss on his lips with a faint whisper that sounded somewhat like the words he needed to hear. Almost unreal.

"I already have died." She reminded him. Just as soon as she had said it, she was gone. Leaving him with nothing but neglected comrades, a name and a memory. He cried out, falling into a cross-legged position on the stone cold pavement. Yes, let him correct that. So there he sat, in the middle of the battlefield. Shouting out her name into the cold night air like it would prove her existance. But it was too late.

Then his eyes jolted open, revealing his co-workers staring at him with worry. Apart from Riza, who looked quite flustered and was a bright shade of scarlet. He looked around blearily, up at the faces of Fuery and Havoc. Falman was standing next to Riza, looking as though he was forcing himself to be his normal serious self.

"So, Colonel Mustang. The Western Front has been opened by the enemy. Our team will be assigned there next week. Please prepare yourself, collecting all necessary supplies." Falman stated, leaving the room quickly with a uncomfortable silence in his wake until Riza followed him around a minute later. He could not help but notice her cheeks were as red as tomatoes.

"You talk in your sleep, eh? You are in _love_ with Hawkeye?" Fuery grinned, as Roy went beetroot red. Now he could understand why she was so embaressed. As soon as Fuery left, he collected himself and knelt down to pray like he had been instructed to do by his mother when he was little. He would pray to God. He did not want it to be a premonition.

Because he might not be able to tell her if it was.

* * *

Preview for theme four: _Of all the places in the world, Riza had not expected to spend her Christmas day in a cemetery._

So, sorry if you though I really did kill Riza. I was planning to at first, but then I did not like the idea. Ninety seven to go! So yes...reviewers will be loved. :)


	4. Grave

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **004. Grave**

Dedication: edPod, you were a great reviewer of Chess. Thank you for all the well-rounded critique and the lovely reviews.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Fuery would own Kain Kreme doughnuts.

**

* * *

Angles

* * *

**_**004. Grave

* * *

**Breathe in._

First Lieutenant Hawkeye looked into the cloud, watching the snow fall softly upon the stones without a word to the man beside her. The air was cool and crisp, stinging at her cheeks to make them a tint of pink she was not quite sure had ever graced her cheeks before. Not to mention, of all people, he was the one who had dragged her here.

The only time in which Riza had ever made a point of coming to one of these places was when she was much younger, much more nubile, and much more naive. A week after her father had died. She had never returned. Not even once.

Not only this, she had been awoken at around six in the morning when he rang her doorbell to demand that she went there with him. Riza only rose early on the mornings she was obliged to travel to her workplace. Otherwise, it was plain unheard of. Because God, Hell had no fury like a woman scorned. Or a woman who missed out on a decent amount of time in which she could sleep.

_Respire._

"You know Hawkeye, you should be thankful I brought you here so early. The rest of your day must be busy, and you would not be able to visit Hughes unless Gracia was in your plans." He told her a little too cheerfully. Her eyes narrowed into slits as they glanced unto his sharp features. Of all the places in the world, Riza had not expected to spend her Christmas day in a cemetery.

"No, I do not know. I also doubt I will be thankful for it, although I have no plans." She half growled, not even bothering to add a Sir unto the end of her words where it was appropriate. After all, they were not at work. They were in a cemetery, in the freezing cold. Not to mention, Riza just plain hated winter. With a passion.

"A beautiful woman like you? I doubt you are telling the truth." He half-mocked, placing the bunch of flowers she had bought elegantly in front of the stone. She felt her cheeks sting redder, although he probably was just trying to annoy her. By God, he most cetainly knew it annoyed her as well. She hated this man sometimes.

"I am." She replied bitterly, feeling her frozen lips beginning to turn blue. No, she could not just feel it. She was almost certain they were, as they were too numb for her to feel anything. As were her fingertips, her toes, everything. Correction. She hated this man alot sometimes.

"Oh. That makes two of us." He told her, firm dissmisal in his voice. Her glare hardened even further. He recoiled, and she felt some small form of satisfaction. At least he now got her point. She hated him more than alot. She hated him with every fibre of her being at this moment.

_Inhale._

"We should spend today together, you know." He said, looking at his right-hand woman. Riza looked at him a moment, a ludicorous look spreading across her face a moment before she burst into peals of laughter.

"You know, I just might be thankful for this. A funny joke." She told him stiffly. He looked at her a moment with perfect calm, and she began to feel unerved. Was something wrong with him? He looked fine a moment ago. Unless he had been serious. Not likely.

He edged slowly closer. She ignored him, seeing as he still had the stupid grin upon his face. Funny, really. Roy really was an idiot. Then before she could protest about this fact, he was next to her and smiling like the cheshire cat.

Pulling her arm quickly, he kissed her for a matter of mere seconds before pulling away and leaving her spellbound. She stood frozen a moment, looking at his now straight face.

_Exhale._

"I was being serious."

* * *

So...Roy wanted to visit Maes. Yes, odd for this theme. Usually it is angst for others, but this came out as fluff. I am trying to avoid angst at the moment though, seeing as it is only around five days until Christmas. Ninety six to go. 

Preview for theme five: _He would always ask her how she was, every single morning. So even if she was not, she would always tell him the same answer as she cleaned her gun._

Reviews are loved, and make me update quicker. :)


	5. Heiki & Heiki

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **005. Heiki (weapon) & Heiki (fine)**

Dedication: Bar-Ohki. Thank you for all the reviews of Chess.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would be selling matches on the street.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

****_005. Heiki (weapon) & Heiki (fine)

* * *

_**  
It was not supposed to be like this.

He would always ask her how she was, every single morning. So even if she was not, she would always tell him the same answer as she cleaned her gun. She would always say that she was fine.

"So, how are you this fine morning Hawkeye?" He beamed brightly, half throwing himself into the wooden chair awaiting him behind the desk. No sooner had he done so before she came over; paperwork in a messy pile under one arm, and pratically threw it at the desk in front of him in clear anger. He shrunk back in fear.

"How am I, Sir? How am I!" She ranted. If she was a dragon, he would have been cooked alive at this point. Dark circles were under her eyes, which were glaring daggers clearly made of ice at him.

"So you did the paperwork?" He asked. Her face contorted further. It was a death trap. She was a bomb waiting to explode, and he had just lit the fuse to start it off on the path of destruction it would create in the trail it left behind.

"Yes, Sir." She stated calmly, seeming to regain her composture. The bomb squad had been sent in, and their mission in saving him was a success. He breathed out.

"So, how are you this morning?" He tried again, realising that he sounded very much like a mouse. It seemed that although she was no longer going to explode. Sitting at her desk once more, she pulled out her gun and began to clean it carefully with a cloth that seemed to magically appear in her hand.

"Fine, Sir. I am fine. I just need some caffine." She stated, standing up and walking out of the room. She was not going to slaughter him, at least. But something was off. She had left her gun on the desk. Standing up, he retrived it and was about to open the door. His hand froze at the handle, hearing her voice. With that of Edward Elric. In a discussion about a him. A _him_? She never mentioned that she had a _boyfriend_, or was even _dating_ anybody. He disliked that thought. A _him_, that was.

His hand lingered on the handle just a little longer.

"So, you are definite that you are fine? Then who did _he_ see last night?" Edward stated, and Roy knew that he had asked her the same question straight away. After all, how else would she answer? Her reply never changed for that question. Never had, probably never would. It was a good, sturdy, constant thing. One little thing about her that made him smile.

"One, yes. I am fine, Ed. Two, another woman." Her voice was on edge, and Roy had half a mind to go out there and tell the pipsqueak to leave her alone. He was about to walk out there and tell him so as well, but something caught his ear. One word.

"_He_ is crazy. You do _**love** him_, right?" He asked. He heard a little intake of breath, probably on her part. Then a silence before one simple answer he found himself dreading.

"_**Yes**_."

"Who cares if it is against the code? It is time you told _him_." He heard Edward state. Then in that one moment, he felt his world crashing down around him. She _**loved** _somebody.

"You have no clue what you are talking about." She said, starting to walk away. Roy bolted out of the door, past an astounded Edward Elric and running up next to her in a quick pace that would probably rival the speed of light if he cared for it to do so.

"So, were you talking about Havoc or something? Because if you-" He began, but she cut him off. She looked at him, and for once he could see it. For once, he felt frightened. Because of one small thing.

"I was not talking about Havoc." She told him as he handed her back the gun.

"So, who is it then?" He asked, his heart beating fast. She looked away from him, not daring to meet his eyes. His fright increased. It was true. She looked sad. His eyes widened.

Riza was not fine at all.

She had not been for a long time.

* * *

If you did not gather, Riza is in love with Roy.

Preview for theme six: _They had talked about death. Only breifly, but it was still once at least. For both him and her though, once was still one too many times._

All reviews are loved. :)


	6. Death

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **006. Death**

Dedication: Georgie and Amy.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Riza would be Queen. Roy would be the dedicated servant who works for her.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**006. Death **_

* * *

She had never really thought what would happen.

Sure. They had talked about death. Only briefly, but it was still once at least. For both him and her though, once was still one too many times. It had started with Roy thinking up many 'what ifs' which none of them had wanted to think about. Especially her. Roy was not going to die. Not on her watch. She would die for him, if it meant he would not even so much as be injured. She would not even hesitate to think about it either. He was a man who could change the world, and she the loyal right-hand woman by his side at all times. Never once questioning him. Never once stopping to think something they were doing at the time could possibly be wrong. Because Roy was never wrong. Not so much as once.

So as she sat there in the upturned car, glass sprayed across the area it had landed in and the sound of unfamiliar voices crying out in shock and worry she tried to shift her head to look to her left. She had been the one driving. How could she have been so careless? This was not the way it was supposed to end. She had joined the army. She had expected to die in a war, a battle, a plain soldier. Not anybody special. Not an assassination target, because she was not that significant. Not in a desperate suicide, because she would not ever give up. She was Riza Hawkeye. Riza Hawkeye never gave up. She could list one million ways or more she could die, of that she was certain. All because she was in the military. But the thought of a car crash had never so much as crossed her mind.

She closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again softly as she looked at Roy. His eyes were shut, his mouth drooping open slightly as he lay half out of the car window and only just where she could see his face from where she had just managed to release her seatbelt after the screeching as the car came to a grinding halt as it currently was. Upturned. Just maybe, Roy had been worried that something like this might happen. Maybe that was why they had that discussion, even though it was such a long time ago. She could barely even remember it now. Trying to move her hand, she could see it was cut with glass shards that lay around her from the window by her side. She had always thought herself a careful driver, as well. She had never let him drive. She always thought he was too reckless. Well, if that had not come back to bite her in the arm she could have reconsidered one day. From the corner of her one open eye, she saw one of his open in return. Slowly at first. His charcoal eyes soon were startled however, wide and shocked.

"Riza, are we going to die?" He asked in a croak, and she desperately wanted to reassure him. Tell him that everything was alright. Everything was ok. But the lack of formality when he said it gave it all away. No matter what, he knew what was the most likely outcome. It was simple, really. Death had never really scared her, but losing other people had. She reached out her hand in one last desperate movement, barely reaching his. If she could have cried at that moment, she would. But no tears seemed to come.

"Roy, please do not die." She choked out, feeling the blood on his skin mix with her own. He held her hand in return, closing his eyes softly with a bittersweet smile upon his features.

"Riza, I need to tell you I love you. So the same applies to you. But if I do die, you know now. We will not go to the same afterlife, anyway. Heaven is reserved for you, but that is a place I cannot go." She knew he was referring to Ishbal, she knew every word he said was true. But to tell her he loved her now was absolute madness. Not that it mattered. She just needed to get out a few simple words in return.

"Roy, I love you too." She smiled. There came no answer. She was certain why. He had said Heaven was reserved for her, but he was going somewhere else. Personally, she thought that was absolute rubbish. Roy was not a bad person. Everybody made mistakes. Plus, she did not want to go to Heaven if he was not there to share it with her. Then she closed her eye once more, slipping into sweet nothing as she let oblivion overcome her senses.

When the emergency services finally came, they were surprised to find their hands _still_ entwined.

* * *

You may be wondering why this is angst so soon after the new year. I am sorry to all the readers out there. But if you look on the BBC website for London, you will see a headline saying 'three dead as bus and car collide'. When you click on it, you will find a story saying 'Police said car driver Joe Wallis, 18, from Plumstead, Georgina Fox, 16, from Eltham, and Amy Curran, 15, from Blackfen, died at the scene'. Now take a look at the dedication again. Both of those girls went to my school, and were in the year above me. Georgie was the cousin of the sister of my brothers friend (confusing, right?) but she was always around the house of her Aunt whenever I was over. She was probably the funniest person I ever met, and very easy to talk to. Even if we did not hit it off right away. She was a great person. I will miss her alot, to say the least.

**So R.I.P Georgie and Amy.**

Preview for theme seven: _They had known the crime they had committed. They had known the punishment. But it had not stopped them. Infact, they had never even considered that they might get caught._


	7. Crime and Punishment

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **007. Crime and Punishment**

Dedication: YourFavouitePlushie, thanks for your patience.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Pinako would be ruling as Fuhrer by now.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

_ 007. Crime and Punishment_**

* * *

"So, what is your punishment?" Roy had asked them all one day when she left the room for five minutes, a small smirk on his face as usual. The subordinates looked up at him, all sitting for a moment thinking. If any one of them admitted it outright, they knew it could mean something very unfortunate could happen. He was waiting for an answer however, so they knew they would all have to find a way to slip around the question. Plus, it was not like he did not have a punishment either. Infact, he was the one who was punished by her the most.

She was the punishment of Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc. When she would swipe the cigarette from his mouth swiftly, then placing it under her black boots and crushing it mercilessly with the stumpy heel of them. Her lips would purse in some form of prudeness and anger, her eyes narrowing into slants as she directly looked at him as if to ask why in hell he began to smoke to begin with. In her eyes, smoking was a crime. He would always smile nervously, running a hand through his hair with a sheepish grin. She did not need to know he only smoked so she would grab it from between his lips and he would get a perfect view of her pretty face.

_**"The perfect view."**_

She was the punishment of Lieutenant Breda Heymans. When he would show his crime of cynophobia, jumping away from Black Hayate quicker than anybody would probably ever see him him run from a madman if one was stupid enough to attack him. His second crime was when he left his jacket undone, and she would remind him with an unforgiving glare that uniform was not supposed to be worn in that way. She did not need to know that each time he did so, he committed a third crime by considering breaking the rules to tell her she looked sweet when she scrunched up her face like that.

_**"How sweet it looks."**_

She was the punishment of Master Sergeant Kain Fuery. Whenever one of the mechanical items he had repaired under her use broke, she would usually come straight to him to tell him that she wanted it working again straight away. Of course she never said it to the youngest of their group, but he was certain she thought it was a crime to have something so vital to her work not actually being able to do the job it was supposed to do was a crime in her eyes. Her soft reddish-brown eyes, which he would never tell her that he secretly enjoyed the colour of more than a normal man ever should.

_**"The colour of reddish-brown."**_

She was the punishment of Major Alex Louis Armstrong. Whenever he tried to excel himself, trying to push himself even a little further to get a great skill he thought he could pass on to the next generation of the Armstong family so one day in the future others would be able to say that skill had been in the Armstong line for generations. She never said it aloud, but he knew that even the ever hardworking Riza Hawkeye thought it was a crime to push yourself to hard. But he knew it would worry her greatly, and her expression to show this each time meant that he could never help himself from doing so anyway.

_**"Making people worry."**_

She was the punishment of Warrant Officer Vato Falman. She thought it was a crime that he was so formal, though she had never told him this directly. Even she must want him to lighten up a bit, just like the rest of them. However, she was yet to criticize his precision. He had never let her down when it came to that, but maybe that was why she never interacted with him all that much.

_**"My precision."**_

His smirk widened. They had known the crime they had committed. They had known the punishment. But it had not stopped them. Infact, they had never even considered that they might get caught. They all had a fascination with her. A strange fascination at that. But that did not mean he was the odd one out though. It was just that he had caught them out before they caught him.

"Well, at least I'm no different." Roy stated, placing his feet on the desk lazily. He heard some coughs and stifled laughter coming from Havoc, and sat straight back up. Riza stood there, her arms folded and looking at him angrily. Yes, Riza was their punishment. But that was just as well.

Roy loved punishments from her anyway.

* * *

Preview for theme eight: _As much as they would like to think they were like normal people, they would never be able to walk down the store-lined streets talking about normal things. But who wanted to be a normal person anyway?_

Reviews are loved. :)


	8. Store lined Streets

Summary:_ At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **008. Store-lined Streets**

Dedication: dins, the first reviewer of this. Nearing fifty now, oh my. **:O**

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, all Mary Sues would be banned from fandom. Hands down.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

**_**008. Store-lined Streets

* * *

**_

"Colonel Mustang, we can walk down these streets as long as you want. None of the items on sale are going anywhere." The woman standing to his right stated, looking at him softly. Her voice was not showing any signs of determination, no pressure on him to keep moving. A few people were starting to look at him in question, and it made her feel uncomfortable. Did he not know it as well. He looked at her, eyes searching for some sign of difference.

"We will walk these streets only as long as you please. Unless you want to actually go in one of the shops?" He asked gingerly, wondering if she wanted anything. If she did, he would not mind.

"I do not know." She answered enigmatically, eyes drifting around the shops. She saw the sweets in the windows of shops, children clamouring to get inside. Bakeries full of sugary treats, mothers and fathers ushering their children inside to buy them a small item to cheer them up rather than standing outside in the cold January air. Then her eyes shifting around, something caught her eye.

Despite the fact Riza was probably the best sniper in the military, Roy could still say he was slightly suprised. But he had scolded himself straight after, reminding himself that she was infact a woman, after all. He knew that for a fact. Even she was entitled to be interested in a minute feminine thing like that, as much as she did not want to admit it.

Oh, women and their reactions to _sparkly little beaded dresses._

"Get it." He told her, and her eyes slid away like she had never seen it. Eyes meeting his, she frowned with determination. That look said it all. She was Riza Hawkeye. Riza Hawkeye does _**not wear dresses**_. _**Never**_. They were a sexist male invention to make women expose themselves, she told herself stubbornly.

"No." She stated firmly.

"It would look very pretty, First Lieutenant." He offered the compliment, opening the door for her to enter the shop. She did not enter, instead blowing the hot air out of her cheeks in irritation to make a small cloud of steam that disappeared into the freezing winter skies.

"I could never afford it anyway." She told him plainly, and he frowned deeply in return to hers. She worked so hard, and she could not even afford the dress she wanted? He pouted, grabbed her hand and dragged her in before she could protest using the blunt facts she had told him once more.

"Just relax, Hawkeye. How much is that dress?" He asked the shop assistant, and after he was told the price he brought out his wallet and shoved his remaining wad of money into her hand and headed for the till expectantly. Riza could only gape when they left the store, white bag hanging off his arm with the item inside.

"Sir, this is the nicest thing you have _ever_ brought me. It will go to waste on me though." She choked out as he handed her the bag, looking whiter than the snow that had fallen not even a month beforehand.

"I _never _bought you anything else. Sorry about that, " he started, then thought "but maybe I can get you dinner sometime?"

Riza looked at him, a warm flush spreading over her cheeks but at the same time looking quite bemused and embaressed. He bit his lip. He had just said that aloud. Not a smart idea. She was probably going to shoot a few bullets at him just to knock some sense into him now.

"In another world, that would be nice." She smiled painfully. They were _not_ plain, _not _ordinary. It could not happen anyway. They both knew it. After all, neither of them were _normal_. As much as they would like to think they were like _normal _people, they would never be able to walk down the store-lined streets talking about _normal_ things. But who wanted to be a _normal_ person anyway? As well as that, what even defined_ normal_?

He gave her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek and watched in amusement as her cheeks flushed again.

"I'll pick you up at seven." Risks and store-lined streets be damned, he thought.

Roy did not want to be _normal_, not when he could have her.

* * *

So...overly fluffy? I think it was. But at least it was cheerful. Not angsty, like most of my stuff comes out. My friend says those are too depressing, and damns all the angst I write to Hades. Only ninety two of one hundred left to complete, on the other hand. Some angst might slip itself in there.

Preview for theme nine: _"Was there a time before I knew you?" She asked, and it struck him like lightning would an opened umbrella during a storm._

All reviews are muchos loved. :)


	9. Unknown Past & Before

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **009. Unknown Past / Before We Knew Each Other**

Dedication: silvergothicsweettooth, the second reviewer of this.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Riza would own a diary.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

_009. Unknown Past / Before We Knew Each Other

* * *

_**"Name and title?"

"First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, Sir."

Roy looked up from the paperwork he was finally filling in, the army registry for the new year. Hawkeye looked rather unamused by it, and infact rather offended. A grim but firm smile was upon her lips, but even that looked as though it were forced upon their by her sheer willpower. Yes, even Riza hated these things.

"Age?"

"You already know it, Sir."

"Right."

He filled in her age on the form, then heard a yap and a yowl of fright come from outside the door. He did not even want to know what her dog was doing out there, let alone his men. Yes; his organized, systematic, productive but sometimes not very coherent in though men.

"Reason for taking up job?"

Riza did not answer for a moment, looking rather annoyed by the question instead. Her eyebrows raised in what Roy assumed was anger, she rounded on her Colonel. Her lips pursed, and Roy had one coherent thought. She was _pretty_ when she was annoyed. He mentally slapped himself as a silly grin came unto his face, curling the corners of his mouth up like a cheshire cat. Riza did not look very pleased.

"That has never been in the questionnaire before, Sir."

"It's not in the questionnaire now. I just want to know." He told her, and she looked quite alarmed before forcing herself to maintain the calm and hard working feeling that she gave out. Her eyes flickered to meet his a moment, then looked out of the window in what seemed like a split second.

"Then I have no need to answer it, Sir." She replied, a dismissive look upon her face. He frowned. She must of seen it, because her real smile came and contorted itself into a twisted grin.

"You would think I would already know, seeing as we have known each other so long. So tell me." Roy whined, and her grin grew even broader than it had just been.

"Was there a time _before_ I knew you?" She asked, and it struck him like lightning would an opened umbrella during a storm. He looked at her with another frown.

"Yes, a few years. I don't know all of your past. Infact, some of it is very much unknown." He replied, a dismal look upon his face. Her eyes searched his face, and a wave of pity began to submerge in her chest.

"I joined the military because there is something worth protecting, Roy." She told him softly, then exited the room to let Falman enter for his questionnaire. Leaving Roy only to stare at her retreating back as Falman stared at him, a confused look upon his face as though there was something he could not quite figure out about them. He raised himself off the desk to greet Falman with a practiced smile which had become a habit to greet others with for him.

"Anything wrong?" Falman asked, and Roy looked at him with his smile drooping slightly.

"Just a piece of unknown past." Roy mumbled, and Falman did not reply.

Silence passed for a few seconds.

"So, shall we start your questionnaire then?"

* * *

I do not like how this came out. A bit crappy, I think. It's just...ish. But I guess I have to say one thing: thank you so much to all those who have reviewed so far! I never imagined I would get what...now sixty...on just eight chapters. It makes me feel so loved. Ha, I sound like a nutjob. But the last chapter had like eleven reviews, and I was just sitting there like 'I didn't update in like a week and I'm ill. Not good...wait, eleven reviews on that one chapter?'

Preview for theme ten: _Roy had been known to break a promise, but the rare times when his mistakes were brought up it did not take long to realise for any single one of them that he had never broken a promise that he made to her._

Ninety one of one hundred to go, until I mow a meadow...

Once again, all reviews are loved. They make you get a tingly feeling inside. :)


	10. Promise

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **010. Promise**

Dedication: winglessfairy25, because she always reviews and was the third reviewer of this. It makes me happy.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Armstrong would be Galileo.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

**_**010. Promise

* * *

**_

"_Havoc, I promise it will not happen again_."

Running a hand through his scruffy hair, Jean sighed and took the cigarette from his mouth in one hand as he stubbed it out in the small tray before him. Breda laughed at his mimic of Mustang, the quote being one they had all heard many times before. They had been talking about the last girlfriend Havoc had. Needless to say, she had become rather more interested in Mustang than him. Like every other woman he had ever dated.

"Oh, no. _Heymans, I swear we can play chess tommorow_."

A new cigarette had been lifted to meet pink lips, but it was lowered again in an instant so that Havoc was certain he could not choke on it when he let out a loud chortle. Breda smirked at this response, reaching down the side of his stiff wooden chair so his fingers could meet the floor in order to scrape around for the bottle he had just placed down upon it.

"_Havoc, I swear to you all women in the military will end up wearing mini skirts_. Wait, do you think Riza ever really though he would disregard that for her?"

Breda tried to focus his darting eyes upon the man in front of him who was puffing smoke clouds out around him with a casual air, despite the fact the nicotine would ruin his lungs. Such an idiot at times. A smudged smile spread unto his slack jaw, then a laugh far louder than the previous one came out with a mix of snorts.

"Havoc, you know how we were just talking about promises that Roy has broken? I think Roy has never broken a promise he has made to Hawkeye."

It was true, and Havoc seemed to register this in his mind upon the words which Breda had stated. Roy had been known to break a promise, but the rare times when his mistakes were brought up it did not take long to realise for any single one of them that he had never broken a promise that he made to her. Then before their silent thoughts could be spoken once more, the door crashed open to reveal said male and female. Breda immediatly focused himself, quickly grabbing the empty bottle and roughly shoving it in the drawer and out of sight. However, they did not even seem to register the existance of either of the two men. It seemed they were in a **heated debate**. Which Hawkeye must have considered the polite way of saying **argument alert, run for your lives.** Or at least, the shaking Havoc hoped she did.

"_Hawkeye, I promise that to you at least_."

Riza looked around, seeing their unwanted company. It finally seemed to dawn on her that they were there, and her face flushed what Roy would call a dangerous shade of red. For a moment, Havoc could have sworn he saw her eyes do the same and that she had been possessed by Lucifer. With a squeak, he grabbed Breda's collar and they made a late and timely exit from the room before she could empty so much as a single bullet from the gun that hung at her side.

"Fine, Sir. Fine."

With a wave of her hand, Riza sat at her desk in an furious and ungraceful manner. Opening her drawer to find her pen and begin the paperwork, her eyes met an empty beer bottle instead. Looking around, her gaze met Roy for a fleeting moment. No, it was not him. He was with her. It was one of them.

"_Riza, for you I would even promise to light up the sky_."

She shot towards the doorway in an instant, wrenched open the handle and grabbed her gun quicker than Breda could say toast. He quivered beneath her heated glare, and Roy looked up from the reminder that had been left on his desk. He was amused that Breda would even say such a thing, and Riza looked positively mad at this point. A smirk crept unto his face as Breda made a quick dash for freedom as she attempted to calm herself down. He stood up, walked behind her and leant forward until his lips hovered inches away from her ear before whispering.

"You know Riza, Breda was right for once. I really would."

It was certain, both Breda and Havoc knew.

Roy only ever kept promises he made to Riza.

* * *

This was decided upon for the final drabble for the tenth theme after publically embaressing a friend in Science who makes his own (how to put this...) velocious cider with his mother. You know who you are. Yes, this was aimed at you. Also, tenth drabble! In the double digits...and only ninety to go!

Preview for theme eleven: _Well Roy lied to her too, so she supposed they could start keeping a tally chart to count amount between them._

Reviews are loved.


	11. Liar

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **011. Liar**

Dedication: FujiokaSpring, thanks.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Pinako would be a fruit bat.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**011. Liar**_

* * *

"I _hate_ you."

Roy looked at her, feeling her reddish brown eyes watching him. Her voice was sharp, the tone indicating that she meant it. If she was a sentimental movie character, he was pretty sure she would have dwindled a moment before letting a single tear slide down her cheek. Pointlessly. She always said crying achieved nothing, but she looked as though the salty liquid would come from her eyes at any given moment. She was a professional, so he should expect nothing else though. He sat up, pulling the bedcovers with him to cover his body. Not like she had not seen it before.

"Pardon me?" He asked, running a hand through the dark hair that was stuck to his sweaty brow. There she stood, looking as though she had just had a clean shower at the expense of his water bills and the underwear he knew she had worn yesterday. The red and black, with just a little lace. Feminine, but nothing like her. Maybe she wanted to make him happy, because she had thought he would like it even if it discomforted her? He had not asked, just like he had never asked all the other women who had ended up under his sheets but usually awoke to find themselves covered in sweat and alone. But she was different. She knew this cycle, and she had beaten it.

"I _hate_ you, Roy Mustang." She told him, her eyes burning brightly with indignition. He studied her a moment, her pale skin and dark marks under her eyes from sleepless nights. Her neck, covered in red marks he supposed he must have left. Love bites, they called them. If there was any love in their relationship, he knew where it was. But he was sure it was not in the bed, filled with worthless promises and supposedly meaningful sex.

"What did I do?" He questioned blankly, his eyes scanning the room for a pair of male underwear he could see that were his. Well, female underwear was bountiful. Then his eyes widened, and he snapped out of his sleepy mood with a sudden click of his brain as the cogs began to turn.

"You _lied_." She said simply, indicating with a pointed finger to discarded clothing that had once belonged to a woman. Maybe it had been hers once, but she was certain it was not. Riza Hawkeye did not wear pink, and the dress on the floor from some date he must have had lay strewn on the carpet as if to prove her point. Her lips pursed in anger, mixed with a large amount of hurt she was determined for him not to see. Well Roy lied to her too, so she supposed they could start keeping a tally chart to count amount between them.

"That is from months ago." He told her, flopping back into the pillow once more. Before he closed his eyes, he saw her glide across the room and pick it up with a haughty air surrounding her. Taking it her shaking arms, she retreated to the bathroom.

Honestly, what had she been thinking? She could not have ever been the only one. He was a _liar._

Roy was known for his promiscuity with women, it came in endless cycles for the sake of God. He would take them to dinner, make them feel special. Take them home, always to his of course. Never hers, as that could be too messy. Wake up before her, drag himself out of bed and leave her there with a note about how there was a key so she could let herself out and in as she pleased. But before any of them could get back in, he would change the locks. It was an endless circle, but she had hoped she would be different.

Now Riza was not stupid, she had known she might not be. But she had clung vainly to the hope that because he had not left her in the morning, there might be something different about her that made him stop and think. Something that would make him _love _her, just as much as she _loved_ him. She knew it was foolish, but she could not stop it. Each time she would see something that was not hers, she would just ignore it. It must only be an illusion, because he _loved_ her. But it was not, and this single pink dress that the owner had never reclaimed was proof.

She could not stop _loving_ him. So maybe telling her what she wanted to hear was better for now, just so she would not hear the sound of crushing coming from her chest when she finally would be able to say it was just another broken-hearted story. Yes, maybe sometimes lies were better than the truth.

That way, she did not get hurt.

* * *

Urgh...angsty!Riza and manslut!Roy. I don't like this one. :(

Preview: _They thought that he had no weakness? Well, she was living proof that was wrong._

Stay tuned for fluff in the next chapter as my self-inflicted punishment. Eighty nine to go!

Reviews are loved. :)


	12. Proof

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme:** 012. Proof**

Dedication: causmicfire, thank you for the review and the C2 add. :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Edward would own a flea circus.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**012. Proof**_

* * *

"Colonel, you do not have a weakness,do you?"

Breda looked at him as soon as the words had left his mouth, then redirected his glance again. Roy mearly looked a mix inbetween shocked and amused. Falman wanted to seem to ask the same question, but he too looked away from Roy. That one woman who they saw every day, but clearly never saw too well from behind their rose-tinted eyes that told them the friendship between them was nothing more than Colonel and right hand woman. She would never outstep the boundaries, surely. She was too steely to do something like that. It must never have dawned on them that she was one to take risks.

_Her blonde hair swaying from the fan he turnt on in the summer when her hairclip had broken._

He had been so mesmerized by it, the soft glimmer it gave when it hit the sunlight beaming through the window next to her desk. Although he knew she would complain about it later, it stopped him from doing his paperwork for a good few minutes before she had looked up and he had hurridly began to write once more.

_Her eyes, wide and paralyzed with fear._

He had only ever seen her like that once, when she had thought he was dead. She had been with Alphonse, and although he said nothing to Roy after the situation even his then metal face read worry that somebody so strong could be so completely destroyed by losing her superior officer. Or was he just that? Fullmetal had started rumours because of it about an illicit relationship between them as a joke. Suffice to say, she had not found it very funny. But it had amused Roy, if only in the slightest. But even so, he never wanted to see her so petrifid again.

_Her lips, smeared with liquid red._

He had been the one to cause it, the mixture of lipstick and blood. She had that scarlet on her lips, inviting as the colour of rouge that would sometimes grace her cheeks subtly when somebody angered her. Of course, being the man he was he could not resist hitting Havoc when he had tried to kiss her when intoxicated. After all, it was their work night out. She had not appeared too pleased about Havoc either from the way she was touching her lips to wipe off any traces of him that remained, and the idiot was lucky she had not drawn her gun on him. But even so, Roy felt jealous of him. He had the courage to do something Roy had never done, no matter how much he wanted to.

_Her nails as they grazed down the back of that stranger._

He had seen that later on that night, when that stranger had waltzed over to her. They greeted each other well enough, so it seemed they knew each other. Perhaps. All he knew was that one minute Riza was standing next to him with the man on her other side, talking to him in a civil manner. Next thing he knew, the man had whispered something in her ear and she was up against the wall somewhere across his room with her nails grazing down his back. Even Roy, with his blurred vision, could see that clearly enough. Maybe it was just that she did not want to be left out, because he had enough beautiful women trying to cling to his arms that night in a vain attempt to get him to buy them drinks. Strange thing that night was he did not really care or pay attention to them, as he only had eyes for her. Not that she seemed to care. That has stung him deeper than he let on when she walked into work the next Monday in a good mood.

_Her cold fingertips as they brushed hands._

She would leave the paperwork in front of him as always, and he had reached out to pick it up and check what it was. It had only been a fleeting moment, but her frozen fingertips had brushed the back of his hand before she moved back to her own desk to do her own paperwork. He had never felt a feeling so eletric, and it had shocked him to the core.

_Her taste._

When he had finally kissed her, not really giving a miniscule damn about regulations any longer.

They thought that he had no weakness? Well, she was living proof that was wrong. He smiled, before answering Breda's question with Falman also listening intently.

"Yes, I do actually." He stated with an odd grin, which both Breda and Falman looked perpelxed by. But Breda said nothing more, returning to lazing around and Falman continuing to filll out his paperwork with neat square writing.

He did not add that the name of his weakness was **_First Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkeye._**

* * *

Riza is living proof of Roy's weakness. I'm getting overly endowed with fluffiness. Blah.

Preview: _Of all the people he knew, she was the most unlikely to betray him._

Eighty eight to go.

Reviews are loved. :)


	13. Betrayal

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme:** 013. Betrayal**

Dedication: TennantFangirl.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Havoc would not smoke.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

**_**013. Betrayal**_

* * *

It was a bitter thing.

The word made bile rise in his throat, threatening to emit at any moment. Even if he let it remove itself from his body in such an unrefined way, it would only make room for a fresh wave of nausea and doubt that she had caused within him. No, not just within him. Within all of them. Like it mattered. They would never know of her crime, the way she had become something so sickening and sweet he did not know just how to handle her any longer. She did not even appear to see what she done to him. The way she acted, so innocent and unchanged by the tide of their lives.

The tides of emotions and memories, which were like the sea. Flowing like water, brimming at the edges of his mentality and reminding him who they all were. Just pieces in a game for the higher-ups in the military, toys to be disposed of like they were children who had grown bored of them and demanded new ones. Sending them to fight was one way to get rid of their unwanted possessions, but so was just simply catching them out with their rules.

She said she had joined the military for her own reasons. He had known her when they were young, so there was no reason to doubt her words. No reason to believe that she might so much as be lying, secretly thieving his heart so that she could hand it to one of the Generals on a silver platter to give herself an ego boost. He had no reason to believe this was the case though, either. She had not betrayed him like that, she had not betrayed him _at all_ infact. It felt as though she had though.

"What does he have to offer you that I do not?" Was the simple sentence that man had asked. His underling. His companion. His friend, he even dared to think at some point before he had questioned her like that so simply. But ever so deviantly, so meaningfully. Jean Havoc had to try and take it a little further by trying to flirt with her. She had not taken it lightly. A breach of conduct. She had seen it as idiotic, stupid. Or so she had said.

"Stop being an imbecile." She had scolded, without much thought. Although afterwards, he should have noticed her miniscule matchstick-thin smile playing on her lips, the small thing that meant that it had amused her. That maybe, she had found it funny or sweet. Or maybe he was imagining it there? She always did say he was too dramatic.

The way Riza always made him put out his cigarettes, because they would give him lung poisoning. When he lost another date, commenting on his inability to hold down a steady girlfriend jokingly. When he finally dated the girl who they were amazed did not shoot him down, Solaris. Only to find out she was Lust, and end up so injured that he had to leave the military.

"Riza, when did you fall in love with Havoc?" He asked her spontaneously, and she looked at him as though he had been drinking beneath her nose. His true words were not obvious though, as much as he wanted to shout them to the heavens. Riza, why did you betray me? Why did you fall in love with _him_, and not _me_? Of all the people he knew, she was the most unlikely to betray him. Or so he had thought.

"Sir, I am not in love with the previous Second Lieutenant." She said sternly, her features knotted in disbelief at his words. Stepping out the door, she looked up at the sky and frowned when she felt small flecks of impure water hit her face. Rain. She disliked the rain. It made him useless. He could not defend himself because of it. Looking at her plain black umbrella in a unspoken and forlorn goodbye, she handed it to the Colonel.

"What is this for?" He asked, looking at her in suprise. Her reddish brown eyes stared at him a moment, taking in his features. The raven hair, the pointed nose and charcoal eyes. His comment had been so unmistakably Roy. She smiled, then proceeded to venture down the sidewalk, although she was becoming heavily soaked and her hair was sticking to her face along with the nape of her neck, causing her some slight discomfort.

"Because you are useless." Though it was not always in the rain. He never was the perceptive type. So telling him she did not love Havoc, because she was in love with him? It was out of the question.

It would probably be _worse_ than betrayal.

* * *

Blame neopets three digit codes for the lack of weekly update. 

Preview:_ Although she was not innocent._

Eighty seven remain.

Reviews are loved. :)


	14. Covered Eyes

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **014. Covered Eyes**

Dedication: MoonStarDutchess, thank you for the reviews!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Black Hayate would be a goldfish.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

_ 014. Covered Eyes_**

* * *

He covered her eyes as he took a life.

He never wanted her to witness something like that. Although he knew that he took lives herself, and he had seen her do so with what was almost a frightening ease. Although she was not innocent. Not that it mattered. What was innocent anymore, in a world like this? Where wars came only from those with power wanting to gain something, and people would starve in the streets because of it as their family, friends, lovers, left to fight so that they could defend them. Even if it was only in a small way, as the bloodletting would not cease just for those who were actually cared about to survive.

She had been in Ishbal. She had seen him kill there, even if it was only once. The look on her face, the pure mixture of_ horror_ and _sickness _and _everything_ just seemed to overtake him in an instant rush of emotion. Because of that expression, which he had never seen before or after that day, he had decided two things.

The first was the memory of that day haunted her, as she sometimes flinched at times when handing him the pyrotex gloves. It had hurt him at first, knowing that even she was scared of him. She had stopped it now. Perhaps because it no longer made fear overcome her in a single moment, hair standing on end in the split second she half expected to be slaughtered like the inhabitants of Ishbal.

The second thing he decided was much more simple, but much more important. He decided that he would never, not even once, let her see him kill anything again. Not specifically humans.

"Sir, may I ask why you are covering my eyes?" She asked, her voice sounding out her suprise. He watched it crawl over the paperwork she had just placed on his desk, long spindly legs pulling it around the sheets and then off them to go in the direction of his biro. He did not need the ignition cloth gloves for this. Awkward as it was, he raised one foot and slid off his shoe. Raising it high above his head, he looked down at the thing that was now moving past his biro and was ready to swing to his dark leather chair. _Squash. _There went the spider. He removed his hand, placing his shoe back on the floor and sliding it on indifferently.

"Before you ask again, Hawkeye, you do not need to know." He informed her, scooping the remains of the crushed bug into his palm and disposing of them neatly. By which is meant throwing them in the bin without so much as a care in the world about the body of a deceased insect. Not that Riza would care it did not have a grand burial.

"Whatever you say, Sir." She answered dismally, not really wanting to know anyway. It was probably just another one of his odd little quirks. Like needing coffee when he walked into the office straight away in the morning, his odd habit of not writing the number thirteen as a page and instead making it thirteen point five because he thought it was bad luck. Riza just thought he was too suspicious. Either way.

"I say fetch me some strawberry shortcake." He replied, a hint of seriousness in his voice. He was getting hungry. She looked at him blankly, her right eye twitching. Her hand had moved in an instant, pulling out her gun. Aiming it directly at his head, she smiled in a sweetly disturbing way only she could manage whilst doing something as cruel as that.

"What was that, Sir? You want me to do the job of some kind of secretary?" She replied, and he could feel the sweat beading on his skin and rolling down softly. Then he smiled back. She looked perplexed.

"Does that secretary wear a mini-skirt, and do I get to cover her eyes when she does?" He retorted cockily, and her cheeks flushed a vibrant red before she pulled the trigger and released over eight warning bullets. Into his wall around him. He shivered in his seat. This woman was so violent. He loved strawberry cheescake. It was only a suggestion.

"You can cover my eyes as you please. But no mini-skirts." He perked up in an instant, looking at her and grinning. If only she knew what he had really meant by that, just that one time when he had meant it in a different context. Oh, wait. If she did, she would not have aimed to miss him. It would have been directly in all his vital spots, then another five or so bullets to check the first lot had done their job.

He made a third decision on the spot. That night, he was going to go to her home. He would then her to a taxi cab down the street, and tell the driver to take them to a hill where there was a nice view of the night sky quietly so that she could not hear it. Then he would cover her eyes, and take her from the cab to see the view. Then he would stop covering her eyes.

Then he would kiss her.

* * *

I like updating at four in the morning. Also, Ishbal/Ishval. Nobody critisize that. It depends on if you watch/read the anime/manga if it has a different spelling. In the anime it is Ishbal, and I watch anime more than I read manga because it is cheaper. 

Preview: _He had only ever been scared of it once._

Prepare for angst. Eighty six to go.

Reviews are loved. :)


	15. The Scent of Blood

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **015. The Scent of Blood**

Dedication: Azilie.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Havoc would be a ninja.

* * *

**Angles

* * *

** **_015. The Scent of Blood_**

* * *

_"Riza? Where are you?" Roy called out frantically._

_The dark was surrounding him, enveloping his very being in the blind ways it gave out. The pitch black, his senses alert and his body growing tired and weary. His reactions ready for fast movement, fingers clenched tight into fists under the material of his stark white gloves. His nose sniffed almost what she would have called dantily, then it came. The nauseating stench of blood, and all of a sudden there were flashes of crimson red combined in the blackness. He shouted, falling back onto his knees in what almost seemed like paralysis, judging from the lack of movement he captured as he froze in that position._

Then he awoke, eyes wide and mouth open to let out heavy pants as he gasped for air. His body had grown comfortable with the process of breathing after so many years, but now he was choking on nothingness and the oxygen was strangling his lungs. His eyes stung, and he inhaled again sharply. Never had respiring been such a difficult process. Yet all at once, he had found himself deprivied of the vital oxygen. His hands shaking, her rose one to his head. Well, he had no fever. Flopping back to bury himself in pillows and blankets once more, he lay awake waiting for something. Although he did not know what.

The scent of blood had never bothered him. He had only ever been scared of it once. But to him, even that one occasion was one too many times.

Whenever she got a tiny bruise. A papercut. Anything. The sickening smell would be breathed in, and he would find himself petrified more than he could ever explain to anyone. Every now and then he would look her way at that, and look for some sense that she was really fine. To know she was still there. Just in case. He could not afford to lose her. He did not know if he could take it he woke up one morning and she was simply gone.

If he woke up one morning, blood staining his sheets or his hands soaked in it and knowing that it was not his own but instead that of her he knew one thing for certain. He had no excuses, no reason. Nothing. If he ever harmed her, he would kill himself right there and then regardless of anything. He would cut off his own right hand before he ever harmed her. But even so, there was a small nagging doubt that it could. That one doubt scared him more than he would ever like to admit. His eyes slid shut again.

_"Roy, help me! Help, please! Someone!" She screamed._

He jolted up once more, eyes adjusting themselves to the light of what was barely daybreak shining though his window with a perfect calm to contrast his own mood. He was finding breathing difficult again, and each intake of breath felt like another stab at his vital organs with pins and needles. Shards of glass or broken bottles, knives, anything. Possibly even bullets.

"Stop it!" He told himself as the door creaked open.

"Bad dreams?" She asked, and he looked up at the woman at the door. A frown creased into his brow when he saw her long blonde hair, draped over her shoulders like some kind of pashmina and her ice blue eyes staring at him without making him so much as feel butterflies like the other woman did. Her skin was more tanned with a fake orange powder, her features more round and plain. The skin of the other woman was creamier, although she hated it to be exposed unlike this woman who loved it to be. Her features were sharp and striking. This woman smelt like cheap but fitting perfume, and nothing like the scent of gunpowder and something else he was never wuite sure of. This woman could have him as she pleased, but the other woman could not. This woman, whose name he did not even know, was not the one he loved.

But he always found her here in the morning, tangled inbetween his sheets that smelt of sweat and cuts down her arms he knew that she herself had made with some crude instrument. He knew this woman was different, socially awkward. Maybe that was one thing both women had in common. But either way, one thing was certain. He did not care about this woman being harmed, or the scent of her blood. As cruel as it sounded, he just found himself unable to bring himself to care. She was not the one he never wanted to see hurt, or smell the scent of blood coming from.

She was not Riza Hawkeye.

* * *

I know Roy seemed a bit of a pratt, but it just came out like that. But in the end, he does care about Riza far more than anyone else. Eighty five to go.

Preview: _If he could force out the words, he would tell her that he was sorry._

Reviews are loved. :)


	16. Reaching Voice & Unreachable

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme:**016.**** Reaching Voice & Unreachable With a Voice**

Dedication: jacksparrow589. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Fuery would work in a sweet shop.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**016.**__** Reaching Voice & Unreachable with a Voice**_

* * *

His hand, curled into a fist. Raised into the air, then spread open.

As if to grab something unseen, his fingers retreated once more and came back to touch his palm, if only weakly. Her? She was quiet in the chaos, her own fingers touching his palm lightly as though she was beyond him. Not quite able to help, but only to watch and offer some form of comfort. He appreciated it, but it was not what he wanted. He wanted to be able to tell her, scream and shout and make his limbs convulse in some agitated manner why he told her. Do not worry. It will be ok. I love you. Nothing can hurt you, not when I am here. Not even when I am like this. But no, how could he when he could not hear his own voice?

But most of all, he wanted to tell her one thing. If he could force out the words, he would tell her that he was sorry. Then he felt it, his eyes barely open to see it instead. Water. Hot, salty, wet tears. Dripping on to his cheeks, and her voice. Her voice, calling his name. Although his ears were just as bloody as his hands, and he was pretty sure he had either damaged or burst one of his eardrums. She was calling him. Sobbing. She had never been one to sob. Maybe she knew that he was unreachable, no matter how much she called him. Maybe she had hoped it would make him able to move, if he saw her like that. But after moving his hand, his body had become numb and incapable of movement.

"Riza, crying is for babies." He smiled, and she screamed hysterically. That had been what he had said to her when they were children, and she had fallen and scraped her knees.

"Sir, please. Do not die. Please." She pleaded, grabbing the front of his standard military uniform tightly and laying her head on his chest next to his heart. She could hear it beating still, if only for now. He knew what she was saying. _Do not go_. _Not like my mother did_. _Not like my father_. _Not like everyone else_.

"I am not going anywhere." He told her.

**His heart thumped softly**.

"I will never be able to reach you if you do. I will never see you again. I will never see you and your idiotic grin of the morning, I will never hear your voice taunting me, I will never see you standing there your cocky attitude again. I need that. Please. Promise me."

**Silence**.

"Roy?"

Although in a war zone, Major Alex Louis Armstrong heard it. That one noise, shattering and blaringly loud even in the midst of other gunfire. The sound of a shot being fired.

_**Bang**_.

* * *

Angst. Blah. Sorry for the long time not updating, blame Science exams, my History teacher, for setting us a essay on the Holocaust that is not GCSE coursework, and my Astronomy teacher for making the coursework deadline so close. Eighty four to go. 

Preview: _"You know Sir, from this angle a small scar like that does not look so bad."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	17. Scars

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **017. Scars**

Dedication: fAteD lOvE. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Edward would drink more milk to make his bones grow.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**017. Scars**_

* * *

"My skin, my beautiful _precious_ skin. You are _ruined_!"

Roy moaned dramatically, and Riza looked at him with an incredulous glance as he pulled at his hand in the mirror. He had somehow managed to cut his hand open, and after going to the hospital to have stitches a small scar had been left. It was light and small, barely even visible but Roy being the insufferable person that he was he had to make a humongous deal out of it.

"You know Sir, from this angle a small scar like that does not look so bad." She said calmly, and he turned to glare at her as menacingly as he could manage. Too bad he had done it so many times before, and it had never once had made any difference.

"Hawkeye, you probably have never had a scar in your life. You do not understand!" He whined, and she frowned. Stupid, idiotic, insensitive imbecile.

"Are you joking?" She hissed. He immediately shriveled under her ferocious dirty look, acting as though she were more like a rain breathing dragon than a fire breathing one. At least if she breathed fire he could do something about it. Infact, Riza was _scarier_ than a rain breathing dragon. If there was even such thing as one, that was.

"I forgot. I swear. What do you want me to do? Get on my knees and plead for forgiveness?" He asked, and she grinned at him like a maniac. He whimpered.

"That would not be bad, actually." She beamed, her hand on her thigh. Next to where he knew her first gun was. Because no, Riza did not just arm herself with one gun. Although she was deadly with just one, she armed herself with two. Maybe she thought Roy was a sadist. Perhaps he knew he was, because she acted like a masochist and then that way they would be the perfect blend of insane together. So rather than kneeling and begging for her forgiveness, Roy chose the one logical option to get out of the situation. Well, 'logical' to him anyway.

He _kissed_ her.

The door of their office slammed open, and Major Alex Louis Armstrong walked in. Neither of them even seemed to notice he was standing there, shocked at what he was seeing. Rather than making the comment that avoiding sticky situations which he had walked in on and should not have was a skill that had been the Armstrong line for generations, he smiled and walked out without a word.

They had all wondered about it. Why he always stared at her from time to time, then denied it. Why she always glanced back, sometimes catching his glance at her and then looking away quickly. They had all noticed it. Infact, anyone could. At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second. The answer seemed obvious.

When looking at them through the right line of sight, ignoring their odd little spats and scars their memories held they had always been together. No matter what, always by the side of the other in the pair. Like an unstoppable tag team duo, like those in the Armstrong family that had been tag teaming for generations. Except with them, it was not just family love. They could all see it, and now it was just proved by his two eyes. Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye.

Who would have thought they were in love? Well, _anyone_.

When they looked at their relationship from the right angle.

* * *

Look! Look! It is not angst! Lack of update is due to losing the entire plan for each and every Royai theme that was on my laptop and was wiped brutally from it because of my brother downloading a virus. This 'ate' all my files, in a matter of speaking. Eighty three to go, and realise will be spelt realise because I am not American.

Preview: _She did not want to know. Did not want to accept it. Did not want to __realise._

Reviews are loved. :)


	18. I Don't Want To Realise

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **018. "I don't want to ****realise."**

Dedication: SxStrngSamurai13. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Alphonse would be one _very emotionally brutalized_ character.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**018. "I don't want to realise."**_

* * *

It is strange how sometimes, what seems like an insignificant thing can change lives.

But that was the very situation right now for Riza Hawkeye. Her mouth was open in a large uncharacteristic gape as she stared slack-jawed and wide eyed at the item in her hand. It was only something small, but she could say from that day onwards she was certain she would never feel as much fear again.

She could already feel her heart rate picking up speed, pumping and pummeling in her chest all at once as she felt as though all the blood in her body was wildly buzzing under her flesh like crawling insects leaching her of any feeling but _numbness. _How could she have allowed this to happen? Her lips tightened, becoming barely visible as she chewed the lower one. It was strange. It could have been one line that had shown on it, but it just had to be two.

She looked away from it, closed her eyes then glanced back to it again. No, it was still the same. Even if she did not want it to be. She did not want to know. Did not want to accept it. Did not want to realise. She had always been so precise, so organised and accurate that it had never occurred to her that something like this could happen.

That she could ever be pregnant with the child of Roy Mustang.

"I don't want to realise." The words escaped her lips. No, she was definitely not pregnant with his child. This thing had to be wrong. It had to be defective. It simply had to be. It was that she did not want to realise that something was going to change, and in her experience change had never been for the better.

With one last disgusted look at the _positive _pregnancy test, she flung it in the sterile white bin of her bathroom. Maybe just for now, she could ignore it. Or perhaps it was wrong. Looking at the second one and only remaining one she had told herself that she only had in her possession _just for a precaution_, she took it in hand and frowned.

"Once more never hurt." She said aloud to herself, in attempted reassurance. Not that it did much good. Yet ten minutes later, she found herself staring at yet another one giving the answer that yes, she was indeed with child. A strangled cry came from her throat as she gasped for air, something to remind herself she was alive and this was not just a bitter nightmare that she could wake up from.

Yes, the smallest most insignificant things can change lives.

The smallest, most insignificant pregnancy test changed hers.

* * *

I do not know what came over me, but I am updating twice in a week. So the entire theme idea I originally had changed, not that I could remember the entire thing anyway due to losing all my files with the plans in. Because unfortunately for me, my plans do not stay in my head. This is why they need to be put down as soon as I have them.

Preview: _It was just one of those things they never expected anybody to understand._

Reviews are loved. :)


	19. Things One Cannot Understand

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **019. Things one cannot understand**

Dedication: Pickles The Great. I do not think I have dedicated one to you yet...thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Havoc would get all the girls.

**

* * *

**

Angles

* * *

_**019. Things one cannot understand**_

* * *

To understand is to have the correct amount of knowledge about a thing to make educated deductions or assumptions.

Jean Havoc understood a lot of things, but the relationship between Colonel Mustang and First Lieutenant Hawkeye was one of the things he most certainly did not. Sure, her he liked to think he understood women as well. But that was a different thing, a moot point. Women were harder to decipher than ancient texts, even though they had emotions plainly written all over their faces at most points they were cunning and sly. Sometimes they chose to show them in that way, playing men for fools.

By choosing to go along with a woman at any point for him was like gambling with paper dice. They rolled, they worked and served their purpose but they could break easily. They were for flimsy gamblers like him, and this thought had proof in the fact he had yet to find a relationship like theirs. Sure, they said they were nothing more than a boss and his loyal subordinate. But he believed differently. Infact, each and every person who was not either of the two mentioned thought they were just trying to kid themselves.

It was just one of those things they never expected anybody to understand_. _That was what they would always say, those exact words each and every single time. Nobody could even come close to comprehending their intricately woven relationship, threaded and weaved to what almost seemed like perfection in some kind of breathtaking work of art. That was Mustang's more poetic way of saying it, and he would always finish that sentence when she was in the room with a flashing pearly grin and although she would protest it seemed more like an act to Jean on her part. When she thought nobody was looking, he would see her through half-shut eyes looking away quickly and smiling to herself softly.

Although it only seemed Havoc was in relationships for the fun, taking what he could and giving back as little as possible back, the secret smiles and almost unnoticed gestures of Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye were beginning to get to him. He would always grin and bear it when a girl broke up with him, but they were not even dating and they had something so much more meaningful than he had ever had with somebody else.

That pained him greatly. He had held open the door as Roy did for Riza when he had been on a date the day after he had seen Roy do so, he had taken an umbrella out for the second woman as Riza did for Roy when it rained to make sure she was not soaked; he had even given the third woman his coat when it was freezing cold in the dead of winter as Roy had done for Riza previously. But no matter what, each and every time after the date the woman had told him she did not think it would work out. It frustrated him to no end. How did Roy do it? It made absolutely no sense whatsoever how it was different when he did it. How it had no effect whatsoever, unlike the way Mustang's always did.

Maybe, he told himself, just maybe it was not as they said. Not that it was something nobody could understand. But surely he could have the same kind of relationship. It just had to be possible. Maybe it was that the women always painted on some cute synthetic personality for him, unlike Riza did for Roy. Maybe it was that Roy never wasted so many hours on the things he would never be; maybe he was naturally just charming to Riza. Maybe it was that they knew everyday there was a chance that they could die, unlike the people walking the streets without a clue as to what went on in the military because it was not part of their everyday lives. It would never occur to them that any single day could be their last. But this thought had come to Roy and Riza.

Yes, that was what he liked to tell himself. Because he did not want to admit it.

Admit it was just one of those things he would _never_ understand.

* * *

Sorry for the lack of weekly update.

Preview: _He would hear that single shattering word in conjunction with his own name many times, but he would never hear that word said in the same sentence as hers._

Reviews are loved. :)


	20. Murderer

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **020. 'Murderer'**

Dedication: FullMetal Fangirl. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, I would be bathing in money.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**020. 'Murderer'**_

* * *

The first thing that registered in his mind was that Riza had just punched another woman.

She might have heard the woman say it. With her clearly designer dress and strappy heels, she was clearly someone who had never known what it was like in the army. The first time you killed, hands shaking as you thought of what you did and how you hoped it was worth it in the end. If you were religious like people he had known in the past, if God would ever forgive them for the things they had done. But this woman, this random stranger had seen him and uttered that one word. Clearly without much thought.

Yet that was why he cared for Riza. He would hear that single shattering word in conjunction with his own name many times, but he would never hear that word said in the same sentence as hers.

"Hey, is that him? That _murderer _from the Ishbal war? Colonel Mustang?"

He had hissed at her words, just as he had done at all those who had said it before. It only took that sharp inhale and exhale of breath and they would look away again, not bothering him any longer. Riza knew about the Ishbal war, she knew what they had to do to survive in the military. A woman like that could never understand, he told himself again.

The military had hailed his alchemy, saying he was a hero. A saviour of them all for doing such a great duty, preventing so many lives from being lost. But when people saw him in the streets, there were mixed reactions. This woman had just carried out the one he hated most by saying that one simple word.

Yet Riza had killed people too, and so had many people who worked in the same profession of them. Somehow she was never called that taboo word, although she could take a gun in her hands and easily shoot a man without much care in the world if it was in protection of herself or others. Her aim was deadly, and she was probably the best shooter in the entire military. But never once had he heard her being referred to as a _murderer._

"Havoc, you really know how to pick them." Riza spat vehemently, and Havoc looked at his fallen date who was staring up at Riza from the floor with a shocked face. Her cheek was flushed a bright red where Riza had punched her, and at a guess even anyone without any medicinal qualifications would say that it was going to bruise her face rather nastily.

"Did you just punch me?" She seemed shocked, and she was now glaring up at Riza with intense hatred. The blonde woman looked back to her, a beaming grin on her face.

"Yes. Now would you kindly remove yourself from this place at once? You are cluttering up the floor." She stated calmly, and the woman quickly gathered any sense she had left and marched out of the office with a few words to Havoc that she no longer desired to date somebody beneath her, especially if that was the company they kept.

"Hawkeye, that has got to be one of the most irresponsible things I have ever seen anyone in the military do." Havoc huffed, and then stormed out of their office. Roy looked at them like they were a retreating theatre troupe, and then began to laugh. It almost seemed like Havoc was starting to act responsibly.

"I am only defending the people I care about, Sir. No reason to laugh." She snapped, then sat at her desk haughtily before piling a bundle of papers in front of herself to concentrate upon. She clearly was not happy with his reaction. So he decided to change it.

Walking over, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you."

He did not care if they thought he was a _murderer. _They could call him that all they wanted now, as far as he was concerned.

As long as he had her by his side, he did not care.

* * *

Angst to fluff. Makes sense. Eighty to go.

Preview: _"I confess to almighty God, I am in love with Riza Hawkeye."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	21. Repentance & Confession

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **021. Repentance / Confession**

Dedication: Imagining Dark Roses, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Envy would be a werefish.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**021. Repentance / Confession**_

* * *

Repentance is showing remorse for something you have done in the past.

Roy Mustang could repent as much as he wanted for all of his actions, the good and the bad. But there was one thing for which he could not repent, one small action. The action of opening his mouth, gasping for air whilst his heart buzzed with fear and saying a few simple words that he knew could change everything for him. Yet the words he said were not the ones he had planned to say as part of his speech.

"Führer is a title I have hoped to accomplish for many years." Is how he started, and everyone standing in the open area is watching him with these opening words. But the nervous feeling he had did not subside in the slightest.

"Some people sacrifice everything for it." He continued, and he knew it was true. He had lost almost everything in the end, on that awful day when the Heavens and Earth had been shaken. Yet these people only knew of it, knew the details which he had chosen to disclose. It was almost as though they knew nothing, due to unknown censorship.

"Some people repent the things they do to achieve their title." His face was blank as he said this. What could he say that he could regret that he wanted to repent? There were many things, but not many of which had affected his position in an elevating way.

"But to repent, you need to confess first. This is what I am going to do right now." He smiled, and the journalists milling around in the crowd soon grew sunshine beams for grins as though their birthdays had come early along with all their other favourite holidays at once.

Then he knew that all of their eyes were on him. The cruel vulture eyes of the press, prying and waiting for him to ruin himself. The eyes of the paraplegic Havoc, for who he wanted to say he regretted the pain he caused. The eyes of Gracia, staring at his back from the seat next to the previously mentioned male with the absence of the husband he had unknowingly let walk to his death, for which he wanted to repent. But for some reason, he could not bring himself to say the words he wanted to for them.

Because none of that mattered right now, because her eyes were on him too. He could feel it, her reddish brown orbs staring at the side of his face and sending out a mental cry of confusion. Asking why he was about to do something that would ruin him, break the dreams he had given everything but his life and friends up for. It was insane, even if she did not know what he was going to say. She was panicking, he knew. But at that moment, it was for all the wrong reasons.

"I confess to all of you in this room." He said, and the mouths of the press opened to reveal the teeth of sharks. Ready to tear him apart at any given moment with their criticism.

"I confess to you, all of those watching this on live television broadcast right now." He continued, the men filming him from the sidelines looking just as baffled as he was sure the audience watching all over Amestris were.

"I confess to almighty God, I am in love with Riza Hawkeye."

He needed to confess sometime, right?

* * *

Because I can see Roy being the idiotic romantic type of guy for her by ruining his speech, and because I felt like it. Beware the extreme fluff; it has claws to pull you in and engulf you in the creepy ways it has. Sorry I have not updated in so long, the computer has been disengaged. Also, perhaps a slight mis-spelling to the American readers. In England, we spell it as 'repentance' not 'repentence' so please forgive me.

Preview: _"I hope not, because not even He could forgive me."_

Reviews are loved. :)

* * *


	22. God

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **022. God**

Dedication: Devatron2000, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, there would be strong levels of Envy x Pinako in it. Yeah, I went there.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**022. God**_

* * *

"Can you hear me?"

Riza Hawkeye had never followed a religion. She had never been all that interested in one. Worshipping something above, with blindingly devout faith. The idea just seemed slightly strange, so perhaps that was the reason she gave herself. Although she had never told herself a specific one. But even if there was a God, they were now both damned as it was anyway.

"Riza, do you really believe in a God?" Roy sounded surprised. She looked around at him, her usually calm and sensible expression replaced by one of frenzy and dismay. She did not know quite what he was getting at, but she nodded slowly anyway. She nodded a yes, but she was not really sure. It was surely not that important anyway, what she did or did not believe in.

"Why, do you think something like a God exists?" She asked when she saw his expression. His face was marred with a crooked smile, and it was confusing her. He only wore that expression when he had run out of other ones to force on, the look reading that something was amiss with him. She never really grew fond of that look, and she did not suppose that she ever would really care for it.

"I hope not, because not even He could forgive me." His expression switched immediately, and she was thankful for it. But even so, she could feel her own facial look changing into one of immediate worry for his wellbeing rather than the previous franticness it held in place barely moments ago.

"I do not think you will forgive me, when you find it." She muttered under her breath, and immediately shook her head to clear her addled thoughts. He did not seem to hear her comment; the one born from her despair that he would know something that she did not want him to. Not that she had ever hidden anything from him before. It was just that it was different this time. Clapping her hands together again, she slid her eyelids shut and tried her previous method.

"Please, just let it turn up safely." She whispered, and although she could feel him staring at her she did not really care. This was far more important. Though she had thought he was staring at her because she was praying. But when her eyelids fluttered open, lighter and softer-sounding than the flapping wings of a butterfly, she found he was staring at her for all the wrong reasons.

"Is this what you were praying for?" Roy asked, a single sheet of paper that had been folded in half in between his two index fingers. Then the feeling of terror began to rise in her stomach, sickening and foreign. She stood there wishing for a moment that for a single moment luck would go her way, and he would accidentally incinerate it so that all that was left of it was a pile of ashes.

"Sir, please put it down. Pretend it never even came into existence." She pleaded, with her hand already at her holster by her gun and ready for the possibility that he might refuse her simple request. Letting him read that small A5 blackmailing note Havoc had left on her desk like a primary school child rather than confronting her directly could have a large impact, because if he asked her if it was true she was certain she would not be able to say no.

"Oh, an office affair Hawkeye? I always thought better of you." He joked, ignoring her words, but she simply could not bring herself to lift the gun. It was already too late. He had flipped open the note, and his eyes had begun to scan it feverishly. Before she could ask him to stop, it was already too late.

"To think, I always ask a God I do not even believe in late all these nights. The same question, always asked in my head, over and over." He beamed, and she frowned at his expression. Was that the same thing, or was he just being unnervingly optimistic for no apparent reason? Perhaps he thought women liked it, she snorted with laughter.

"What question, Sir?" She asked, her heart pumping madly in the flimsy hope that it really was something else than what she thought it was. She began to chew her lip nervously, not able to meet his eyes. Just in case.

"If you love me. Infact, I still ask God that." He said simply. She smiled before replying.

"I think he can forgive you enough to say yes to that."

* * *

Fluffy Royai? What is up with me and fluff lately? Seventy eight to go.

Preview: _"I will always be here. With you."_

Reviews are loved. :)

* * *


	23. Someone I Want To Protect

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme:** 023.** **'Someone I want to protect'**

Dedication: Kent J. Williams, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Edward would be 6'4 at least.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**023. 'Someone I want to protect'**_

* * *

"Riza, is there anyone you have ever really wanted to protect?"

Roy said it so simply and innocently, but it started a vicious cycle of thoughts. Yes, of course there was – she had wanted to protect her _father _when she was young, _Gracia and Elysia_ after what happened to Hughes, but there was one that was most prominent even if she did not dare to say it.

"You." She replied, fazed by her own words but still upholding her calm demeanour nonetheless. He knew already anyway, that he was the one person she wanted to protect right now. Not just that one person in the street she was the bodyguard of, she could not bring herself to have compassion for somebody who she hardly knew. But someone who she trusted, her companion and failsafe friend. Someone she wanted to protect.

"Me?" He breathed softly, taking out the plates. The pair had tagged along with Gracia, Elysia and the Elric brothers on a picnic. Apparently Winry was going to make an appearance later on in the day, but until then it seemed they would have a steady flow of conversation anyway that she could be filled in on later. But that did not matter for now.

Roy's response had been so stunned, and she could practically hear what he was thinking. Was he really worth protecting? His guilt was hanging around him as his eyes shifted quickly to Gracia and her child, and then slid quickly back to look directly at his blonde Lieutenant once more.

"Well, somebody needs to make sure you do not screw up." She joked softly, her heart racing at a hundred miles a minute when he smiled. She loved the fact that he could still grin after all that happened in the Military, after everything they had all been put through.

She heard somebody say once that eyes were the gateway to the soul, but his smile had made her certain that person was wrong. Smiles reflected everything. The good times, or when there was a lack of them the more trying times.

"Riza?" He said, her name almost sounding foreign in his voice after all the time he had spent at work calling her Hawkeye. She looked up at him after taking the plates from him and laying them out on the red and white checked blanket, a blank expression on her face.

"Yes?" She asked, her reddish-brown eyes focused intently on him when a serious expression overtook his previously relaxed one. Even though he was still smiling, something about him seemed more tense. He was staring directly at her, and if she were a lesser woman she would have squirmed under his intense gaze.

"I will always be here. With you." He whispered, and she automatically felt her cheeks flame a bright shade of red. Riza Hawkeye was never one to blush, but he had said it so delicately as though he were afraid of her reaction. Blinking quickly and looking away made her pulse stop fluttering. _With you_. Two words, but they meant so much to her.

In not so many words, he had told her something she had known all along but was unsure about. _I will always be here, with you_. I want you by my side, I want to protect you and care about you more than you care about me. I want to show you how much I treasure you. Nine times of ten, people only protect those they love. It was so clear to her once he had said those words what he meant by them. His thoughts had mirrored her mental guess, and by the time he said the words aloud she already knew they were coming.

"You are the someone I want to protect, Riza Hawkeye."

* * *

The next one is mega-angsty, so I think readers needed a very fluffy build up for it. Seventy seven to go.

Preview: _Edward knew then that he had never really left her side._

Reviews are loved. :)

* * *


	24. Not There

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **024. Not There**

Dedication: Jimmy Mizen.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would be more insanity than imagination.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_024. Not There_**

* * *

"Thirty nine this year."

Hughes laughs as he reminds her of his birthday, the date she had asked him about to distract him from yet another rant about how adorable Elysia still was. How she looked just like her mother, though her mother disagreed. She looked more like her father, who spoilt her rotten.

"Lucky thing." Havoc puffed out, clouds of smoke lingering in the night air from his cigarette. They had always teased that they would be the death of him. But his inability to walk was the thing holding him back at the moment. Not that he would let it show.

"I agree. Riza, where is the beast today?" He muttered hastily, and she looked as though she were about to laugh hysterically. He always referred to Hayate that way, even now when he knew the dog was nothing like the vicious beast he still clearly believed him to be.

Edward was watching her from across the bar after hearing her laugh, and she smiled at him. He had no reason to be concerned, none whatsoever. Armstrong looked to her when she looked away, the permanent purple sparkles that seemed to hang around him glimmering brighter than ever. He was clearly finding the look the young alchemist was giving her amusing, and it seemed to give Hughes some ammunition for some reason. His broad grin grew as he directed it at his friends around the group.

"Hey Falman, I know you can see the possessive look Edward is giving our beautiful flower." Hughes joked, and Falman looked at Fuery with a wide grin. Fuery did not quite seem to be paying attention, swirling his drink around in the glass in front of him with a cocktail stirrer. The colours were going around, over and over from all the different things that had been added into the concoction. Sort of like a rainbow really, Riza mused.

"What, you mean our dainty lady here?" He pointed to the young, spectacle-wearing Master Sergeant beside him before they all burst into peals of laughter. Even Riza, especially on seeing his childish pout. Edward was staring again, and now so was Alphonse. Were they even allowed in a bar? Oh yes, of course. Some time had passed, the were not teenagers anymore. No longer children. They were both far older, both men. Then finally, _he _spoke up.

"No, I think that look is directed at the stunning blonde woman next to you Hughes. But he is not having her. She is mine." Leaning over, he was just about to place a light kiss on her lips when she said it, almost crying now. Although it was not at his words.

"_Roy_."

That was the only word she had to say. The man who was her companion, her Colonel. Edward had made his way over, taking the empty seat next to her as she looked at the eight empty glasses around her in silence.

"Admit it." Edward whispered, ignoring the scrutinizing look of the bartender and Alphonse now sitting by himself in the corner of the bar not knowing what to do about the entire awkward situation that it had become.

"Admit what, that she loves me?" Roy beamed happily from the other seat next to her, and she pulled a sour face at him. He really needed to learn when to be silent, and when to cease and desist using his mouth at certain times. She looked at him, grinning cheekily.

"Shut up, Roy." She laughed, and the bartender edged away once more. Edward said nothing. All he could tell from that sentence were a few single things. Those eight glasses told him the story. One for each of them. As well as this, although he was pretty sure that she was no longer 'right in the head' there was one thing he knew for certain. He wondered if anyone else had noticed yet.

Edward knew that _he_ had never really left her side. So when?

"I think he means admit that we're all actually six feet under."

When was she going to stop hearing_ Roy_ and the others in her head?

* * *

We are all going to miss your smiling face in the morning. To the BBC you may just be the thirteenth dead child in London this year and the third dead in our school in five months, but to us you were so much more. With that said, rest in peace Jimmy.

Preview: _For the first time since he was a child, Roy Mustang found himself crying._

Reviews are loved. :)

* * *


	25. So I'm Crying

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **025. 'So I'm crying'**

Dedication: '-'soni13'-', you are a wonderful reviewer. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Edward would wear a leopard-print cat suit.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**025. 'So I'm crying'**_

* * *

It almost felt as though he were unable to breathe.

It was insane, really. He was losing his marbles, as she would put it. Losing his mind, if he ever even had a remotely average one that was. If he ever had control of his sanity before that. He really was crazy. Edward could not even turn to look at him although he was by the side of the raven-haired man. He could not offer any form of comfort that would help him in any way whatsoever. It would make no difference if he did anyway.

"_Roy, you cry like a little girl."_

She had been a young girl herself when she had told him that. He had tried not to cry in front of her from that day, and even when Maes died he had simply grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol he could find in his house and poured himself a glass or three. Even though he had known she would never say anything to him about it, she did not cry herself. He had never seen her cry apart from one time, and that was one memory he would rather forget as that had been his own fault.

"_Crying makes you look ugly, Hawkeye."_

He had said it brutally a few days after the incident, and although she looked hurt he thought it was better than telling her the truth. Better than telling her that if he saw her cry again, it would be more than he could ever stand. It would crush him. Hurt him. Scar him. In short, it would be a painful experience. It would be the death of him, seeing her shed so much as a single fresh tear due to him. Her tears should have been shed for her own life that she believed to be in danger, not his own which she believed to be ended at the time. She was too selfless, and she was that way because of him. That quality needed to disappear, or she would get herself killed.

"_Please do not smile. Please."_

It was revealed his tears were not the only thing she could not stand at some point along the line. She could not stand his smile either. The tears he no longer shed at silly little wounds when he was young had morphed into a smile as he had grown older. If he smiled, he looked handsome. He looked comfortable. He looked fine. Even if he was about to break down, it hid everything. Yet she had said that sentence pleadingly, almost begging him to stop it. That had been what he had done when her father; his teacher, had died. She had neither cried nor smiled. She had stood still, watching the coffin lower into the grave with a blank expression. But it did not matter. She saw through the smile. She knew.

"_Just smile, Riza! Show me you care!"_

He had almost shouted it at her, his voice loud and quaking. She had looked over her shoulder at him, seeming completely unfazed by his outburst. She had done the exact opposite to what he had demanded too, frowning deeply at him. The scowl marred her pretty face, dark and different to her normal calm attitude. He had stood, not knowing what to say to her. It appeared he did not understand her as well as she understood him, and that idea gave him an unsettling feeling of being obsolete. It felt like she no longer needed him. But he was so wrong. So disgustingly, moronically wrong. He was the only one who did understand her in the slightest. Yes, he was so amazingly incorrect he had never realised all along. He was not just the one she could talk to, the one who understood her.

He was the one who loved her.

For the first time since he was a child, Roy Mustang found himself crying. Messy, cheek-staining tears that spilled down his cheeks and overflowed from the single orb not covered by the charcoal black eye patch. It was better than smiling. She had been right, he did cry like a little girl. But if it was tears that he shed for her, he did not care in the slightest. His lips curled in a thin-lipped frown as he did so, his lifeless eyes watching the small gathering of people drift away gradually. Soon, he was the only one left standing.

"It is better than smiling." He muttered to himself, looking into the sky for a few seconds before he could set eyes on the cold stone slab in front of him again. Elizabeth Hawkeye. Riza. His Riza. His Riza who he would never forget. Never forgive himself for the death of. He smiled softly at it, and then bit his lip. Blood spilled from it, but he did not care – it removed the smile, and his tears were still flowing anyway.

"So I am crying."

One of them had to do it.

* * *

Angst. I may be going insane. If I am not insane already.

Preview: _She had a cureless disease, and there was nothing he could do to make it any less painful than it already was._

Reviews are loved. :)


	26. Cureless

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **026. Cureless**

Dedication: Sadakai and the rest of the staff (Chaotic Lullaby, Imagining Dark Roses and OTP) over at the community An Unbreakable Bond: Roy and Riza fanfiction. Thank you for adding this story to the archive! :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Armstrong would be the next Da Vinci.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_026. Cureless_**

* * *

She could handle whatever drugs they gave her.

But it would not make her any better. Roy could do whatever he wanted as well. But she knew the truth, and she knew it all too well. She had a cureless disease, and there was nothing he could do to make it any less painful than it already was.

"Riza, please talk to me." Roy pleaded, looking at her in a way that reminded her of Hayate begging her for a treat. Except Roy seemed far more desperate, staring at her. Propped up in the hospital bed, with a vacant expression on her face as she stared at the whitewashed walls. Everything in the place was white. White sheets, white paint and white pills. As plain as her expression, without emotion and attachment to anything. Or anyone.

"I would if I had anything to say, Sir." She replied, boredom seeping clearly into her voice. It did not concern her that he was worried, although she felt slightly guilty about it. It was her fault, after all. But she ignored the feeling, continuing her calm façade. It was better for both of them that way. No harm would come to her, and he would not have to pretend that nothing ever happened. Nothing ever happened that she caused.

"What is making you so ill? Not eating, the lack of concentration – what is wrong with you? Is it something I would not understand? We have always talked to each other, Riza, from when we were young to now. So what can you not tell me?" He was rushing his words, panicking and fumbling over them. He did not know how to ask her without her rejecting his help completely. Rejecting him from her life.

"You will not understand. You never will, Sir." She smiled to herself, as if enjoying a personal joke. Her formality cut at him, and he chewed his bottom lip nervously. He could pick and choose words, rehearse what to say to her for days but it would never work. She would know, and now he was improvising. He never really knew what to say to her, but she seemed to prefer it when he was not counting on a certain reaction from her.

"My name is Roy, not Sir. You seem to have forgotten that." He said softly, reaching for her hand and placing his own on top of it gently. She looked directly at him for the first time since they had begun speaking, and she looked so pale and fragile it seemed she would break under his careful touch like glass.

"It is time you left, Sir." She choked out, a few seconds later looking away again. He began to protest, but he knew she would just call for assistance and have him removed forcefully. He may have been a dangerous man as such a powerful alchemist, but he would not harm those who were trying to help her. She knew it all too well. He ground his teeth against each other, making a similar sound not dissimilar to that of nails scraping down a chalkboard. Grabbing his coat, he exited the room swiftly and without any further questions. But she knew he would come back again the next day, and ask her the same thing. One day she was certain she would give in. But she could not, not now, not just yet.

She could not tell him that she did not have a disease; that making sure she was being treated with all different medications by these baffled doctors and nurses was not actually helping at all. She was not ill in the way he believed her to be when he had taken her there, trying to make her better again. But he had been so busy trying to make her well once more he had not realised she was never really sick, she had something completely cureless. Love was cureless, and she had went and done it.

She had fallen in love with him, Roy Mustang.

* * *

Angsty-fluff? I do not know, this is somewhat…odd. I do not like this one. Plus, I am now more than a quarter of the way through. Seventy four to go, I do believe. Also, mega-super-ultra fast update. The writing epidemic has finally caught up with me again.

Preview: _She was the one that he always ran to, the one he depended on._

Reviews are loved. :)


	27. Dependency

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **027. Dependency**

Dedication: nidoto, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would be working nights. ;)

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_027. Dependency_**

* * *

He craved her.

It was a simple fact. She was just like a pill. Instead of making him sick though, she actually did the job of shoving him back upon his feet and assisting him in any way possible. So yes, he craved her. He craved the pretty-eyed drug that was Riza Hawkeye, as he did not just crave her. He needed her, needed her in the same way an addict would because just like one he depended on her.

She knew it too. The flickering lights in her apartment that only actually flickered when he flipped the switch, the crumpled bed sheets that lay on the floor after yet another one of _those _nights and the fiery _burning _kisses that he would consume her lips with as though they were a scrumptious treat. He depended on those nights, those sinful and destroying nights between the both of them to forget everything. Even the idea of being caught.

She was the one that he always ran to, the one he depended on. She was his biggest mistake, his greatest hidden pride and joy. His sun and his moon, his clouds and stars, his day and night and everything in between. She was his everything, and personally she would not have it any other way. Even if that had been what had started it all, the sweat beading on her skin and rolling off on to his, the coming and going at all hours of the night and knowing that sometime along the line everything had changed. Regardless of whether either of them had realised it or not.

She preferred to think of his addiction as something else for that reason. The need became strings, tying them together in some bizarre twist of fate. Each human had them. But the strings between others and their significant others only tied together when it was absolutely necessary, drawing them together in the strangest of circumstances. That was just the way it was, and that had been what had drawn Roy to her.

But if you were to ask him, he would say she was wrong. He had been drawn to her by something else entirely. Infact, he was almost certain he had not even been thinking about the consequences at the time. He had just given up trying to resist what he most _wanted_, most _needed_, most _craved_, and most _depended_ upon. He depended on those nights to be more than just some cheap fling he could forget like he thought they would become eventually. He needed them to show her that he loved her, to show her that he cared and that he would never lose his addiction to the reddish-brown and cornflower blonde drug that she had become to him.

"I need you." He told her once in the late night as she lay with her eyes closed, almost sleeping but not quite. He played with the ends of her hair as they tickled his nose, breathing in her musky scent of perfume and gunpowder that managed to fit her so well. It was natural to her, not fake and sickly like other cheap things that women used to douse themselves in.

"I know." She had replied quietly, he words almost a whisper. He could only just hear them. Pressing his forehead against the nape of her neck softly, he breathed in her smell once more in the vain hope it would send him to sleep although he knew there was no chance of such a thing. Because although he depended on her, she had never once said that she needed him at all. What was he to her, anyway? Riza was not a fraudulent woman, faking and taking, destroying everything in a quest for self-gain. She cared for others, she cared for him.

Although she never said it, he knew one thing.

"You need me too." He had whispered back, and although she said nothing and he knew she was awake he was almost certain he had got it in one. He knew how to read her, all her little quirks and gestures. He could tell from the way her heart was beating a thousand miles an hour in her chest, hitting the speed forward button on her internal remote and just simply knowing that he understood her.

So when she had reasonable belief that he was asleep, she rolled over and placed a soft kiss on his nose with a brief hint of a smile upon her face.

"I depend on you more than you know."

She was addicted to him as well.

* * *

Everyone always plays up on how he depends on her for everything, defending him in the rain and the like. But I think that she needs him more than she lets on too. I tried to get this across, but I do not think I succeeded. I dislike this one.

Preview: _Silly little wounds would never mend._

Reviews are loved. :)


	28. Pain & Wounds

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **028. Pain & Wounds**

Dedication: Miss Woodford, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Riza would be the one using flame alchemy. :)

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_028. Pain & Wounds_**

* * *

It was just one thing Roy had done.

But there was a problem with it. Silly little wounds would never mend. Silly little wounds from her father, the _silly _and _little _parts being completely wrong. He had carved the array into her back with scorching flames, ignoring her screams of pain. No matter how hard she cried out, how hard she begged and pleaded he had ignored her. When he had died, she had only been young – and any child would have cried. So she did.

But she could not exactly say she felt upset over his untimely death. Although she had shed tears for him, it was only because of what her minder had told her before she had left a few years beforehand. _If someone hurts another badly, they go to Hell_. At such a young age and growing up with such knowledge, it was a wonder she was almost scared by the idea of it. But she was, perhaps because her young mind was not accustomed to the idea of such a terrible place existing when there was the salvation and forgiveness of God.

But unlike _silly little _wounds, the pain her father had inflicted would never mend. So although she cried when she found he was dead, she did not cry at his funeral. She would only hurt herself more by being more miserable than she needed to be.

The second silly little wound was from Maes. That time, it was just a silly little wound. Only a paper cut, drawing a single drop of crimson blood from one of her long, slender fingers. She was used to the pain by then, as she sometimes caught herself on the sides of paperwork or scraped them when she moved her hand too quickly from the rough metal handles of her guns. But the silly little wound, that paper cut had caused something that was not just _silly _or _little _at all. It made Roy different in a way she did not understand at first.

"Hawkeye, you have a paper cut? Let me help you fix that." He had whispered softly in her ear, his breath warm but his voice sounding husky and foreign. Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his mouth and licked the blood off her fingertip. She flinched. He smiled as she pulled away; taking a plaster from his pocket and handing it to her like nothing had happened. It was strange, and it made her uneasy around him for a long time. It did not seem like him to pull a stunt like that at all, not when he thought it would unnerve her.

When he acted like that, silly little wounds were not just _silly _and _little _any longer. To him they were large, causing more pain than necessary from such a small cut. To her, they caused more pain because they flaunted something in front of she could not have.

But the worst pain, the worst wound that she had ever received was from the man who was flaunted in front of her so carelessly by fate. All it had taken was Havoc hanging his feet over the desk, the Colonel not looking where he was going and walking straight into them. Falling over them, gangly and awkward into her arms that were always waiting to catch him when he fell. Cautiously and swiftly, to make sure he as safe. But his weight had been too much.

She had fallen with him when she dropped him, preventing him from hitting the ground with her own body. Although she had not meant to. It had been an accident, a mistake, a _silly little_ wound she had inflicted on herself by catching him to begin with. As he had fallen on her, his face had been inches from her own.

Their breath mingled as they both respired, both sets of eyes wide and Havoc looking at the situation he had unintentionally created just by leaving his feet hanging off a desk and accidentally (on purpose) tripping his superior over. He had lived up to his name in the chaos department, simply because both of them were tomato red. He suddenly felt guilty, and made himself scarce. He did not want Riza to shoot him just then, he had too much to live for.

That was when the worst silly little wound was infected; one more painful then she would ever have imagined it to be. With nobody else left to see it, Roy had kissed her. Forcing his lips on her own, powerful and crushing and craving something she did not think she had.

That stupid, _silly_, insignificant, _little _wound of his kiss almost made her heart break because she knew one thing all too well, and it would nag her conscious for what seemed like eternity.

He had never once told her that he loved her.

* * *

Would this be classed as angsty? The end seemed off to me. Seventy two to go.

Preview: _"If you did not exist, I would not want to either."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	29. Existence

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **029. Existence**

Dedication: silver sniper of night, thank you! :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, writing RoyxEdward would be banned.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_029. Existence_**

* * *

He felt somewhat reluctant about his gift now.

He looked at the golden necklace he had purchased, the small ornate heart with the ruby stone set into the centre of it. It glimmered with flashes of orange in the sunlight, making it look like molten lava or even fire that he had controlled to contain in a pretty rock just for her. The heat of the summer sun was scorching his back, and reminding him of the reason he was giving it to her to start with. Ishbal, the desperate men and women and the stench of death. He swallowed the lump building in his throat, and stared at her front door. He never really went there often, and it was her day off. He doubted she would be pleased to see him.

Even so, he knew this was just one of those things. He had to do it, whether he liked it or not. It was important, something completely necessary to him. A contained obsession that he needed to hand over to her in the form of a necklace. He held it tightly in his left hand as he rapped on the door with his knuckles, the chain digging into his skin and leaving an ugly red pattern as proof of its existence. The door creaked open, and he braced himself for imminent onslaught although it never came. Riza just looked surprised to see him.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" She asked, her face pale. She thought he was here over a different reason. That had been the reason he was there before. Carnage. Blood. Death. Murder. But this time, it was different. This time, he was there for one reason and one reason only. To prove her existence.

"Come closer, Riza." He mumbled, grabbing her hand and weakly pulling her out of her flat. Her hair was down, and the wind blew the wispy cornflower strands that had pulled themselves out of her strictly tied-back bun stubbornly. It reminded him of the hair of a young child, yet somehow on her it looked much more mature and complimented her sharp features. He unclasped the chain, and before she could protest (like a spoilt child) placed it around her pale, slender neck.

She did not say a word, although she looked fairly amused by the situation. She had guessed what it was about before he had to lie to her, tell her differently to what she already practically knew to be the truth. He had given it to her in case she died. Ceased to be alive, no longer in existence. Just like so many before them.

She could look somebody in the eye as she killed them with her immensely accurate aim, watch their crimson blood pool on the floor but she could only ever hope that they were not like Maes. That they did not have homes, joining the military because like she and Roy they had nowhere to go and nobody to turn to that were not in the military themselves. She and Roy had grown with war, but some had not. Some did not know the harsh realities of it. Some had lovers, husbands and wives, families. Children. Who they lost because they went to war, thinking that just because they worked a desk job instead of on the frontline it changed anything. People would still want to harm them. Enemies would still want them dead.

Yet by giving her this necklace, he was showing he cared. He cared that she existed, cared that she lived and breathed and fought alongside him. He cared that she came into existence, that she was with him. That she was still there. She smiled at him. Warm and inviting, yet sad and distant at the same time. It clearly perplexed him. A smile that told him not to worry. That everything was fine. Then she said it.

"If you did not exist, I would not want to either." She whispered. _If he died, she would go with him._ Her real words were hidden, but he heard them as clearly as Church bells.

"No. I would want you to carry on existing for me." He replied, but his unspoken words also hung in the humid summer air that was almost beginning to feel as though it were suffocating him with all the things they had never said to one another.

_Because I love you._

* * *

Sort of set after the death of Hughes. I love you Maes! D:

Preview:_ All he wanted from her was a few words. Three to five of them, to be exact._

Reviews are loved. :)


	30. Conversation

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **030. Conversation**

Dedication: Super-Sweet, my annoying cousin who is a review whore for this. :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Alphonse would work in the red light district.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**030. Conversation**_

* * *

"I only want to hear you say it."

Riza stared at him, her reddish brown eyes giving nothing away. They were clouded with doubt thought, which was the one thing he could see for certain. He swallowed the lump that had been gradually building in his throat. All he wanted from her was a few words. Three to five of them, to be exact. Simple, calming words that would answer everything to him.

"Colonel, I am not quite sure what you want to hear me say." She answered, averting her eyes from his scorching gaze. It penetrated all of her barriers, breaking down all of her defences too easily for it not to be able to break her heart when it left her side. There were other men in the mostly empty street, and being with them would not be fraternisation. It would not be against the code she had to live by. So why could she not find any of them quite the same as him? She frowned, rediverting her gaze to the items in the shop window. Promise rings. How ironic, she scoffed mentally.

"Lying does not suit you." He whispered, avoiding a scene. She looked at him quickly, her frown deep and marring her usually calm features with rage. She would have reached for her gun, but she was unarmed. It was a Sunday afternoon that had passed slowly, until she had ran into him. He had to go and upturn everything, ruin it all with his words. He could say one thing, but it would always mean another. But now it seemed he was speaking genuinely, telling the truth and it was confusing her more than ever.

"What do you want to hear me say?" She muttered, turning her back on him and continuing to walk down the street as though he had never just spontaneously ran towards her when outside of working hours and asked her a question she simply could not answer.

"Well, it depends. Do you want to know a secret? It might help you with your answer." He beamed, his smile as cheerful as the bright afternoon sun that just did not seem to want to retreat for the moon to emerge instead. It was lower in the sky than it had been earlier, but it was being stubborn. Just as Roy was being at that moment.

"Not really. I just want to continue with my afternoon shopping, without you. As far as I know, this time of the week has not recently become working hours. Which means I do not need to spend any more time with you. Good day, Sir." She said coolly, beginning to move away from the new frown that had formed on his lips to match hers. He grabbed her hand.

"I am not asking you to, I am not even asking you for a conversation. I just need to know." He whined, and she could hear a hint of desperation in his voice. He needed to know? No wanted, not demanded, he needed? She stopped, not even attempting to pull away from his grasp. He still did not release it as she finally spun around, facing him directly although she instantly regretted it. They said eyes were the gateway to the soul, and his were certainly no exception to that theory.

"Need to know what?" She whispered, her breath fanning his skin. They were barely inches away, and yet she still refused to say it. He pulled her forward in an instant, their lips colliding chaotically despite her indignant squeak of protest. Before she could give in he had pulled away, a firm smirk on his face upon seeing her murderous expression.

"Say it. Go ahead." He waited for the heart crushing 'I do not love you', the five words that he would rather not hear over the other answer he needed to hear her say. Her soft pink lips formed the words, but no sound. His heart leapt with joy, but he frowned anyway. She smirked for him, because she had beaten him at his own game.

"You did not say I could not make you lip-read it."

* * *

Riza messing with Roy, denying him of the three words he needs. Spiteful idea, I do not really like this one at all. It seems a bit too genre-less, really.

Preview: _"Wo ai ni." He did not even know what it meant when he read the words written on the side of the take-out carton beneath the kanji. He had just wanted to know what the inky squiggles actually said._

Reviews are loved. :)


	31. Home Cooking

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **031. Home Cooking**

Dedication: mewmewgal12, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, some crack pairings would be canon.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_031. Home Cooking_**

* * *

Neither of them had ever been particularly wonderful at cooking.

So whenever they went to the home of the other, they did not even attempt it. Roy overcooked or burnt anything he made, and the attempts Riza made were just slightly better. Though not by much, seeing as the most she could make was scrambled eggs without getting anything completely wrong. They found it hard to figure out how the other survived each day, but that was not what made them laugh about the situation the most.

Each time one went to the home of the other, take-out was not an option. It was the only way they could eat together without going to huge expenses. They would often banter over which type of food to get, and usually it ended up as Riza's choice for the simple fact she had a gun and he was not at all willing to use his alchemy in a highly flammable apartment, or against her. It was unfair, and he often sulked about it. But some days, they reached a comfortable agreement on a certain type of food.

"Riza, what do you reckon those things actually mean?" Roy asked as he placed the cardboard boxes containing noodles on the table. She looked at him a moment, clearly unsure of the answer herself. She picked up her carton in her hands, and then looked at it. There was a translation, but she was too stubborn to read it. It would be almost like cheating. She shrugged, placing it back on the table and retrieving her chopsticks from the white plastic bag.

"Wo ai ni." He did not even know what it meant when he read the words written on the side of the take-out carton beneath the kanji. He had just wanted to know what the inky squiggles actually said. She gave in at that point, reading the side of the carton. Her cheeks went a delicate pink as she read the translation, then stuffed her mouth with noodles to prevent herself from saying anything stupid. She swallowed the still steaming food down rapidly, almost choking in the process.

"Why have you not started eating yet? Is something wrong?" She managed to say as he stared at her, causing her to go even redder. She had looked like such an idiot. How did she always manage to embarrass herself so much? It was like she was a five year old who had wet herself, creating an awkward situation. She was not finding it funny, especially when a silly grin spread across his face.

"You read the translation on the carton. Cheater." He teased her, at the same time opening his carton and rapidly cramming noodles in his mouth in a similar fashion. He moved his carton around again however, looking for the translation. His eyes scanned the white card quickly, picking up the small phrases written on the side instantly until he reached the right one.

"Oh." He squeaked, suddenly looking very sheepish. He shoved the remainder of the noodles in his mouth, avoiding looking in her eyes. His cheeks were flushed as hers had been, and he felt like a complete and utter fool.

"Roy?" He finally looked up, seeing her smiling face. She seemed to have gotten over her initial embarrassment, and looked rather amused by the entire situation he had gotten them into. He looked back at her, not sure what to say apart from answer the question with a normal grunt. He did not do so however, swallowing down the piping hot food quickly.

"Yes?" He said, reaching instantly for the fortune cookies inside the bag he had as an excuse to look away. He could feel that she was still smiling though, and it made him flush all the more. He felt like idiot, as it was. Did she have to rub it in?

"Wo ai ni." Riza said slowly, delicately. He looked up, seeing her cheeks just as brightly coloured as his before nearly coking on his prawn cracker. He checked the translation once more before getting the feeling in his chest that was a mixture of hope and desire.

The translation was _'I love you.'_

* * *

Inspired by the take-out cartons of the Chinese shop down my road. They are rather cool, with all the little Chinese sentences and translations on them. Also, I know that neither the anime or manga are set in the normal world, but I wanted to use this idea quite a lot.

Preview: _"No shoes, no shirt, then service."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	32. Shirt

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **032. Shirt**

Dedication: Bizzy, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Ishbal would export kittens to Amestris.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_032. Shirt_**

* * *

By the ninth time he had said it, she decided to make a list.

The title was printed simply in block capitals, the paper folded and creased. It would have been nothing special, just as almost everything else she wrote. But this was different. This was not just an average list, it was special. Special because it was a list of five things she loved and hated about Roy Mustang.

_One: The way he __never__ says __no_.

Well, to her anyway. It almost made him seem too vulnerable. She was a weakness, a thing that could be exploited if anyone were to know about it. Funny thing, he never once complained about it. Perhaps because she could defend herself, or perhaps because he knew how to protect his weakness like nobody else would ever be able to. Sometimes it annoyed her, sometimes it amused her. But most of all, it amazed her. Late at nights, he would be the one to whisper that she amazed him in her ear as they slept, wrapped up and still fully clothed on the sofa and she would know he meant it. She never understood why he could not see it was the other way around.

_Two: The fact that he __completely disregards__ the __rules__._

It would aggravate her to no end, the way he abandoned his paperwork and simply lazed around in work all day whilst she slaved at it after hours to make him appear favourable for a promotion to their superior officers. She knew it was for a good cause, but he could have t least done some of it himself. But sometimes it was fine, like when he would kiss her on the nose softly and tell her to calm down. Because he was breaking the rules by falling in love with her like he said he was.

_Three: When he says __those__ beautifully awful __words__._

He could whisper that he loved her a thousand times over, in between rushed and heated kisses and as they passed so that nobody but they would ever know what he had whispered to her. He could say it to her in either of their homes, just to let her know that he meant it and he could even shout it one day like he told her he would one late night which drew talk about half-musings and dreams that had been scattered like blown-away kites. But those were not the words she always fretted about hearing, those words she never knew whether to love or hate when she told him that he was not allowed to, that they were idiots for doing these things and that it was possible the future could never change. That falling in love with her was the most wonderfully stupid thing he had ever done. Those words that said to her so steadily that it was already too late.

_Four: __His senses__._

He could smell the blood on her after she had got in particularly messy brawl in the midst of war a mile off, he could see the destruction she could cause and the beauty he told her she possessed in the middle of it, he could taste her sweat on those nights they did not talk at all and their animalistic cravings took over, and he could feel everything she felt under caressing fingertips just as well as she could. But one thing she never got over was his sixth sense of automatically knowing when she needed help, when she was angry or upset beneath her calm demeanour and just knowing when she needed him. Knowing that she always needed him, although she refused flat out to tell him so.

_Five: __When he__ steals things__ that __should not belong to him at all__. _

She could stand it when he said she looked perfect in his shirts on the nights when she had gone straight to his house and borrowed one without permission to sleep in on his sofa, although she detested the idea of being flawless. She could stand the feeling of scratchy cotton or too soft silk grazing her skin when his sleeves touched her skin, because it was rare and she was not one to complain unless it was needed. She could even stand when his clammy hands had gently fumbled with hers for the first time, because she had known he was just as nervous as she had been. But there was one thing she could not stand.

"No shoes, no shirt, then service."

When he said those words, she knew that he knew it was already too late. He was dirty, lying thief who had stolen on thing and one thing from her only that would make her pulse quicken and her feel desperately weak. All because of him. All because of him stealing it.

Just as she would steal his shirts, he had stolen her heart.

* * *

Sorry for the long lack of update. Exams, coursework, and prepatory work for the business enterprise a seven person group I am part of won and will soon be attending the semi-final of. Not at all fun, I can assure you.

Preview: _For Black Hayate, a walk with Riza was fun. For Roy, it was something else altogether. A vicious attack was probably the best way to describe it._

Reviews are loved. :)


	33. A Walk

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **033. A Walk**

Dedication: IzzyCullen, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Alphonse x Toenail lint would be canon.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_033. A Walk_**

* * *

_Step._

For Black Hayate, a walk with Riza was fun. For Roy, it was something else altogether. A vicious attack was probably the best way to describe it. It was not Riza or Hayate who made it so, of course, nor was it the legions of women dedicated to keeping him single in hope of obtaining him for themselves. No, nine of ten times it was someone else entirely. The main culprit of all but one of the sabotages was himself.

They could discuss anything and everything, Riza not even bothering to tug the lead of her animal companion when he stopped sometimes when they became too immersed in the topics which they discussed. He could talk for hours and she would patiently listen, and the same thing could be done the other way around. It never really mattered, they always cared what the other had to say and they probably always would. All that mattered was that there was someone who cared, and so their walks became filled with endless and sometimes unimportant chatter about anything and everything.

_Stumble._

The first time he stumbled, it was because they had been discussing work. Her work, to be exact, as a sniper in Ishbal. It was a place of bitter memories, forgotten bloodshed and turmoil but he had never really known much about what she had done there. Her world of war had been filled with soaring metallic bullets that peppered the battlefield, the smell of metal and the taste of copper due to crimson blood being spilt, and how own bullets tearing apart skin and muscle and jugular, men and women until there was nothing left of them. He had not seen metal dig itself into skin, but he had felt his flames burn them and smell their skin and hair scorch and the scent of burning flesh was too much to handle for any man. But even so, he felt sick and stumbled when Hawkeye told him how she had once been petrified of scarlet nail polish because it reminded her of when blood coated sand had got under her fingernails.

_Trip._

He tripped a few times after that day, because of that discussion. The thought of Hawkeye on a battlefront had been embedded into his mind, and every time Hayate yapped at his feet Roy found it harder and harder to dip and weave, shuffle around the dog with his feet. Pretty soon, he began to remember the bodies he tripped over in fear-filled nights and the darkest of days in the desert terrain, when the sun beat down on his shoulder and decomposition was quick. When you are behind someone else, a comrade, who forgot to tell you they had just steeped over a body it made it even harder. Sometimes you would trip, and instead of the faces of dead Isbahlians you see their faces instead in a moment of panic. It was then that Riza had begun to ask him what was wrong, but he doubted telling her would be a good idea. So he carried on telling her that it was nothing.

_Fall._

Then one time, he fell. He remembered the sticky liquid when he had once had to shoot a gun, spraying his face and coating his eyelashes like mascara because of his bad aim. He remembered the coppery taste on his lips, the same smell that he had grown used to in his mouth with salt mixed in. He was not the only one to discover how easy and acceptable it had become to take lives in the midst of war, Riza had too. She had him all figured out from the word go, from that conversation, and from his refusal to speak about it. So when the second time his lips fell onto hers and she was his comfort, she did not complain. Love is a battlefield.

In the mind of Roy, so were walks.

* * *

Sort of crazy, lack of update so it needs to be written mood. Due to lack of being in England, lack of computer and the fact that I am soon to be going to Paris for a few days things have been a bit hectic.

Preview: _The third time there was still no answer, and he cried._

Reviews are loved. :)


	34. Telephone

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **034. Telephone**

Dedication: Dark Duchess and Shadow Queen, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Edward would be married to Pinako.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_034. Telephone_**

* * *

The ringing cut into the silence of the almost empty room.

His eyes creaked open, letting in dim shards of light that made the obsidian look even darker than they already were. He grabbed for the phone frantically, in a startling attempt to hear her voice on the other end of the line. He needed it to be her, he did not just want it, he _needed _it. Her voice was like molten caramel, sweet and knowing. It was a star in the night sky; it was the calm of a storm. It was his addiction, and his medication. Strange thing, he had not heard it for so long it was almost as though he had gone cold turkey.

"Hello, Roy? Fuery here." If he were in a more patient, more in the mood to show human kindness he would not have slammed the phone down upon hearing that. Unfortunately, he did just as was expected of him at that time. The phone was disconnected, and it hung limply over the side of his desk, the only thing holding it up being the wire it was attached to. He was tempted to smash the thing, but he knew if he did it would only prevent her from contacting him. He glared at the thing vehemently, hating it more with each passing second.

After some time had passed and it still had not been the right person who had phoned him each time he answered the thing, he decided to call her instead of waiting around. She probably would not appreciate it, would probably say it was a waste of time for him to do so when he should have been doing paperwork but it did not matter. He called once. His reply was the answer machine. The second time he called, it yielded the same results. The third time there was still no answer, and he cried.

It was so unfair. So disgustingly sickening, cruel and brutal of her to do this to him. Oh no, she could not just tell him and let things be fair. She had to drag things out, and put him through Hell. She had not even allowed him to go with her in the ambulance, saying it was his duty to watch over his country and that he could come later when everything was over. For somebody he had managed to fall in love with, she sure was stubborn. He had never liked stubborn women, but then again he had never liked women who could fight back partially well either. Even so, he had taken to her from day one when she was about fourteen. They had known each other long enough, but even at that age when he was just a few years older she had managed to get her way without even trying. She still could. He was distracted from his thoughts once more as the phone rang, and he grabbed it viciously.

"Fuery, I do not want to talk to you. I command you to leave me alone. Is that clear?" He hissed, and there was silence from the other end for a few seconds. Something that sounded like a pair of women laughing came from the other end, and the third sound of a sharp intake of breath. He knew what was coming before it did.

"Führer Mustang, this is the hospital. Your wife has just had a baby boy." A giggling woman said on the other end, who he assumed was the nurse. He indentified Gracia as the other laughing woman in the background, which meant the one who had taken the deep breath was her. He bit his lip. As soon as he got there, she would shoot him.

"Oh." He muttered. He would be killed when he got there. She had told him to wait to come, but she had not wanted him to call her at all. It was her second rule once she had left, and he had disobeyed it by so much as trying to call her.

Riza was going to kill him.

* * *

Were you expecting angst? Too bad. Will probably be updating a lot soon, I have six weeks in which to do nothing but go to parties, go to Disneyland Paris, make clothes, to draw and what is probably of interest to most reading this, to write. Nice.

Preview: _It is all for the best? Of course it is._

Reviews are loved. :)


	35. Letter

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **035. Letter**

Dedication: Bitter-Smoke, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Dante would be the mother of Roy.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_035. Letter_**

* * *

He had produced letters before, but this one was different.

The black ink print he had tried to keep as neat as possible was a mess, a dark scrawl on the plain white paper. It travelled over and under the fine blue guidelines, mocking him with every twist and turn it made. Almost unnoticeable splotches created by the same pen also adorned the page like some odd sort of decoration, a testament that it was indeed something he had created. Some small doodles were in the bent corner of the paper, little drawings of who knew what scribbled down whenever he had drawn a mental blank. It was crumpled and ripped in several places where he had decided to start again, but then changed his mind. It was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen. Sighing darkly, he immediately scrunched it into a ball which sat immobile on his desk.

Nagging doubts began to fill his mind. _Is it all for the best? Of course it is. _He dispelled them quickly, but they reformed and troubled him further. _You have given up on each and every one in the end. If it is for the best, why bother even starting them? _To be honest, he did not even know the answer to his own poisonous thoughts. Telling her he loved her would only cause them both many hardships, even if he did not say it out loud. It was insane, he should not have been feeling that way about her at all to begin with. But he did, and Roy Mustang had never been one to ignore what he knew. It was too easy to in most cases, but this time it was not. He had gone and done it. He had fallen in love with her.

So he had tried to tell her. But every time he came close to saying the words they both needed to hear, he stopped himself from telling her them. He would not, could not bring himself to tell her. To fall in love with someone like him was rumoured to be stupid among the women of this place, because you would just end up with your heart broken. To fall in love with someone like her though was rumoured among the men of the headquarters to be just plain madness. She was pretty, she was amazing and smart but she was unattainable. Something to yearn for, but never to have. She was too good for any of them, that much was true. He had thought those words silly, because he could not see anyone falling in love with either of them. So much for that though, because he had ended up falling in love with her.

So instead of humiliating himself, he had tried to write her a letter. A letter to tell her how he felt, that he knew he was insane to feel that way but he did not care. He would accept that she did not return his feelings, as long as they never spoke of it again. She was too good for him, and they both knew that so doing this would spare them both the embarrassment of her rejection. Somehow, even though he eventually managed to get everything he felt down in the end, the letters all ended up in the same state of one of three options. Shredded and ripped to pieces, burnt to ashes or thrown in the bin next to his desk.

"I am going to leave, Hawkeye. I have a date tonight, and I do not want to be late." He was lying through his teeth, but it did not matter. Not right then. If he did not get out of there soon, she would notice that he was not doing the paperwork at all. She would want to know why, and see the letter he had been writing. He quickly flicked it off into the bin from desk as she looked up, still seeing a mound of paperwork. He muttered a hasty goodbye before darting out of the door, and she sighed at it. Men were so hopeless sometimes. She made her way towards the paperwork, knowing she would end up doing it that night anyway. But something else caught her eye.

She smirked victoriously. Finally, proof of his slacking. She quickly tipped over his bin on the floor, squatting over and opening what he had thrown in. She began to read it. Her eyes widened with every sentence, and she finally sat on the floor, shocked. He had been scribbling away all day, and this was not the only one she had seen him throw in the bin when he had thought she was not looking. Peeling open some more sheets, she found the same things inked down over and over. One sentence in particular struck her.

_This letter is going to ended up ripped to pieces like all the others, so you will never know._

_Riza Hawkeye, I love you._

* * *

Done on whim, because there needs to be some more cute stuff in this collection. A lot of it seems to be angst so far.

Preview: _"Oh, yes. One more thing. He has to like dogs."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	36. Dog

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **036. Dog**

Dedication: Anne Packrat, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, there would be Edward x Black Hayate in it.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_036. Dog_**

* * *

"Riza, what exactly do you look for in a man?"

Havoc looked utterly defeated as he spoke those words, and it was hard not to feel some sort of sympathy for him. She smiled gently at his almost comedic look of exasperation, having the female instinct of knowing that laughing at him would only crush his pride. Well, more than it clearly already had been that day, anyway. Luckily Roy was not awake, or she was pretty sure that he would have. The summer heat had made him tired, and he was sleeping on his desk. Sure, he had left a huge mound of paperwork she normally would have complained about, but on that particular day she did not have the energy to do so.

"Well, he has to be nice and kind. Not lecherous or anything." She started, and Havoc nodded. A clear sign that she could continue. He wanted to make a mental list or something, that was her best guess. Maybe the girl who had said no this time would end up regretting it if he actually kept it in mind, but she doubted that he would. No, she did not just doubt it. She knew he would not give it any care in a week or so. He had been the one to agree to help Mustang just because of the stupid mini-skirt idea, after all.

"He cannot be lazy. If he is lazy, it is a sign that he will not make any effort in a relationship." Riza stated as though it were a clear fact, and Havoc nodded vigorously. At least he was trying to make an effort to listen. Roy grunted in his sleep, giving her the impression that it had changed from actual sleep to feigned sleep. He was too predictable sometimes, his laziness and moans gave everything away nine times out of ten.

"Oh, yes. One more thing. He has to like dogs." She beamed. Havoc stared at her a moment, obviously trying to figure out the reasons behind what she had just said. Sure, she had a dog, but men who liked animals (such as dogs) were attractive to her? Maybe Riza was a tad insane, but that was ok. He did not need to worry about what she had just said.

"Hawkeye, I owe you one. Shall I take him out for a bit?" Havoc inclined his head to where Roy was, faking sleep on his desk. She nodded. It was probably a good idea. She would end up killing Roy if he insisted on pretending a moment longer, and she did not really feel like using her guns when the summer heat would warm the metal. She liked the cool feel of metal under her fingers; it was one of the few upsides to the weapon. She did not like that feeling, that small, secret pleasure being taken away. She nodded to Havoc, who promptly walked over and grabbed the back of the standard blue uniform their supposed superior was wearing. He yelped, and quickly jumped to his feet and followed Havoc out of the room. Riza was left by herself, the sound of shuffling papers the only thing breaking the silence of the nearly empty office she sat in.

"Well, at least you only need to fix a few things." Havoc mumbled outside the door to a crushed Roy. The man only grunted in reply, shaking his head as he handed Havoc a small amount of money for his troubles. Roy sat on the floor, head leant into his knees for a few seconds after before looking up gleefully. His subordinate stared at him, a questioning look on his face due to the bright smile of the Colonel.

"I like dogs."

* * *

A bit of random, slightly pointless insanity from Roy and Riza. Havoc was in there just for the win, because he is one awesome character. He needs more appreciation. Sorry for the lack of update, I have been in France. So there might be a quick update sometime later this week too, for that reason.

Preview: _He used the first match to light a candle._

Reviews are loved. :)


	37. Match

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **037. Match**

Dedication: Hey Fabulous, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, I would be able to think of a witty disclaimer.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_037. Match_**

* * *

There was a small pop.

In the silence of his otherwise empty apartment, Roy Mustang lit a match. The flame danced on the end of the thin, lit stick he held in between his thumb and forefinger. It shone brilliantly in the stark darkness of the room, making different brilliant shades of orange, gold and red shimmer across his numerous possessions. Each of them more unused than the next. Broken teacups, scratched records and scribbled on paper littered the floor. He had no need for any material goods any longer. They served only as some sort of filler of the emptiness surrounding him, just like she had. But with her, there hadn't been any cracks letting the things he had never wanted to feel again reach him.

All he had left of her was a box of matches, too. A box of matches she had kept with her at all times, and cared for just as much as he had once cared for his pocketwatch. They were always with her incase something went wrong, just incase. She had kept them for his use, so he had them as some sort of odd parting gift from her. One taken from her pocket as she had lay there, staring up at him with empty eyes.

He used the first match to light a candle. A candle to show a little light, to show a little hope. Light was the only thing you ever needed in darkness, even if it was the tiniest one you ever had in your life. It was the difference between complete and utter darkness and that little light being there that could stop you from doing stupid. But now that was not an option to have, that light being there. It had been extinguished, figuratively speaking that was.

The second match was used to create a light in his old-fashioned coal fireplace. A fireplace they had sat in front of the previous winter when it they had been snowed in. Of course, it was entirely his fault to begin with for taking the wrong present just to annoy both her and Havoc, but in the end that did not seem to bother her. He supposed it had been because he was her light too, but he found that unlikely. She had been too good, too perfect to need someone like him. He was a liability, he was a weakness, and he was so God damn useless at protecting anyone close to him. The very thought of her needing him was stupid, scandalous, idiotic. Absolutely insane. She was flawless, and she did not need anyone who was flawed.

The third match was used in place of his gloves, and in place of a gun. He had tried to use a gun once before after killing two doctors, the Rockbells, in order to kill himself. The gloves had been shredded to pieces when he had lost her, the uselessness in the rain being one of the reasons but the main reason being that because of them she had been wiped off the face of the planet, out of existence and away from him. He could bear her no harsh feelings for her though, not for leaving him. He had been the one to make her leave, however unintentionally he had done so. He had been the one to let her die.

He had been the one to let Riza Hawkeye, his light, the one he loved die. All she had ever done was protect him, care for him, and do anything she could to make sure that he was doing well. That was what she got in return, the disgusting, ugly end to her existence in a fight where both guns and gloves were useless and matches were the only things keeping them alive just a few seconds longer. Remorse would be useless, though. He needed to tell her that he was sorry, sorry that he could not be her light too in return, face to face.

In three seconds the apartment went up in flames.

* * *

So far in this collection we have had an awful lot of ansty!Riza, but nowhere near as much angsty!Roy. So of course, this asked to be written. Mentally, that is. Not that I hear voices, or anything, it just needed to be done.

Preview: _His favourite type of mischief? What was he on about?_

Reviews are loved. :)


	38. Mischief

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **038. Mischief**

Dedication: Irr, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would be set in the twenty fourth century.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_038. Mischief_**

* * *

They seldom spoke of mischief.

Mischief was what her Grandfather would use to describe their plans, the things they were going to do to Amestris. Mischief was nothing really, a pitiful word to him, something unneeded and useless against such a deadly opposing force. It was not that they were weak, for Roy was one who played with fire and she had the sharpest hit anyone had ever seen; it was just that against a homunculus in control of the entire unknowing army their skills seemed highly downgraded.

In the seldom nostalgic days they had, memories of childhood rushing by in their minds, mischief was something not lost. It was something to laugh at, as although Riza had never been a mischievous child, Roy had gotten into a fair share of trouble due to his actions and the consequences were rarely things that spared him from the mild pains of going to bed without food or being boxed around the ears. Who would of thought, looking at their young faces, smiling and full of hope that they would be the ones to rebel against their own country? Who could have known in those childhood days they would join the army? Nobody. They never really thought about it, either. Roy had just wanted to be an alchemist. She did not care what she was, as long as she was by his side.

"So Hawkeye, what do you think was most mischievous thing I did as a child?" He said from across the room, and she sat up from her paperwork immediately to see him smiling about his question. Memories of silly, insignificant things flashed through her mind. Pretending to try and help the gardeners mow the lawn, then instead burning it down was pretty high up. Soap in the fountain was something she'd heard many people had done, and that hadn't been difficult to clean up. Drawing all over her bedroom walls in chalk for threatening to destroy his alchemy books was pretty mischievous, but it was more of a revenge thing there. She sighed.

"No clue. If our poor maids were still alive, I would ask them. You put them through torture." She breathed, quickly picking up her pen again and rapidly beginning to scribble down signatures on a stack of papers in black ink. Roy had taken to putting his signature down as stupid things that he made up on the spot, so she could not trust him to do it anymore. He was supposed to be folding the letters as she signed them, but on his desk she knew that the pile of completed letters was only halfway stacked up. She had not expected anything else, really. She had learnt long ago he was lazy at the best of times.

"Well, you know what? I was thinking about types of mischief, too. Want to know my favourite?" He grinned, white teeth shining deviously in a smile she knew not to trust. It was the smile that he had when he was little; hiding things with lies that were so obviously untrue she could laugh. His favourite type of mischief? What was he on about? She cocked an eyebrow, the indication that he should continue.

"The kind in the bedroom, preferably with you."

* * *

Naughty Roy. Imagine her reaction to that. I think he would be in hospital for at least a week. I hate saying this again, but sorry for not updating! I have not had a computer, and then I was ill for a fair amount of time. I hope to be updating more frequently now I have it back and I am well, though.

Preview: ___Führer Bradley was a sly person._

Reviews are loved. :)


	39. Sly Person

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **039. Sly Person **

Dedication: Bubb1eTea, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, drinking milk would be compulsory.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_039. Sly Person_**

* * *

Führer Bradley was a sly person.

If that was not obvious, neither of them knew what was. But then again, her grandfather also was. His devious ways were passed on to Roy, Riza being a female and therefore an unsuitable choice. Not for any sexist reason, of course, it was just that he probably did not want to encourage promiscuity with his last remaining direct family member. He wanted her to have a proper, correct family who knew the difference between wrong and right. So when it came down to it, in the same way the General had been a sly person, Roy became a sly person from his teachings.

But for all the lies he had told, there was one he would not tell her. No, not would not, could not. As soon as she was informed that she was to stay near the Führer, and Roy was to go to some God forsaken outpost he could not tell her one thing. He could tell her lies about how she would see him again, if he wanted. He could have told her that she should be proud to be in such a position, regardless of the fact it was to make sure there was a hostage if he did anything deemed threatening. He could tell her that she did not need to worry, that he would still reach the position of Führer himself eventually.

But the one lie he could not tell her was that everything was going to be okay. They both knew very well there was the possibility that it would not be, that everything could end in such a frighteningly tragic way that if it were a story the plot would make it a bestseller. It would be full of drama, suspense and perhaps even a beautiful underlying romance. But the fact was that it was not a story and it never would be. It was real life, nothing dreamed up like something in a fictional tale. Because of that, it could not be changed. If they were writers, a million endings could have been wished up. Happy ones, like those in fairytales.

"You could be happy." She smiled. He smiled back. Her smile was painful to watch, and he imagined that his was too. It was easy to say that. As long as neither of them had to say the other lie. It was easy to fake a smile, easier to fake happiness but one thing they would never be able to fake was that one of them could say those words. They would slit at each other, stinging harshly like papercuts. Those words were unspoken, taboo without telling.

"I hope you will be." He replied. The sadness she was hiding was only visible through her eyes, and he hated it. He hated knowing her this well, being this attached to her. Thinking that they could stay together, and thinking that naively. But even if it meant there was a chance that he would never need to let her go, then he would think it a thousand times over and a thousand more if that was not enough. They could think him naïve. He would not care.

"I hope you are." She said softly. What else could she do? He would still wake up so many miles away, wondering in the morning where she was to make his coffee and do most of his unfinished paperwork. Small, trivial things she did for him, but it was something. So she did. She hoped that he was happy, knowing that he was moving away from the almost silent workplace they inhabited for a short time everyday. Almost everyone else was taken away, and she was one of the last people to go. But to him, that did not matter.

As long as she did not say she was fine without him. Because without her, there was something missing. More than there had been when others had been moved, or even when they had been so badly injured they could not come back and even attempt to help. Without her, he was no so sure that he was okay. Infact, he knew he was not. He knew that he would not be. Without her, he could not be okay. He hoped she felt the same. So he did not tell her that things would be fine, that she could do well without him or even that he would be ok. He just answered her, no matter how unneeded his answer was. For once, the lies were not worth it. He could not bring himself to be a sly person.

"Knowing that I am about to lose you, how can I be?"

* * *

Pretty quick update, and the next chapter is the forty mark. Four tenths of the way through. Two fifths. However you want to think of it. It seems like I have come so far from the start of this, but I still have such a lot more to do before it is complete. But that is good, because along the way I can improve my writing.

Preview: _She hated the word half._

Reviews are loved. :)


	40. Half

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **040. Halves**

Dedication: chatte blanche, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Chris Mustang (see chapter eighty seven) would be dating Riza, Pinako and Lust all at the same time.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_040. Halves_**

* * *

_Half._

She hated the word half. It was so foreign on her lips, strange and ugly and everything a word should not have been. It should have been familiar, interesting and beautiful. Comforting and complimentary instead of indifferent and hurtful. It should not have been so. It just should not have been. But she could not change it, and had no desire to try if even strenuous hard work would have no effect on it. She just hated it, because that way it was easier to remember.

_Half-truths._

Lies. Things which usually had some element of the truth in them, hidden in words with other meanings and dreams sometimes long passed. Things that he had told her, things that he still would tell her. Things that could never be, whispered hopes of their future in her ears as his dark hair flopped down and he breathed his words to her as softly as the sound of footsteps of pattering mice. Of course, he never intended them to be half-truths. They were things he wanted, aspirations, things he could promise to her. Things he could probably never give her. But that was ok, as long as he said them. Even if he knew they could be entire lies. Just so long as lying made them a whole, so she did not get false hopes stirring in her heart.

_Half-empty._

Or was it half-full? Half full of wishes because of those lies, but half-empty and almost filled with nothing because of them. Half-full of care and trust that belonged to him, half-empty because her care often led to failure on her part and her trust was being thrown and torn apart because she was not sure whether anything he said to her was the full truth anymore. He had been avoiding her questions, her voice, her eyes, anything and everything that reminded him of her or actually was her. She did not know why he was beginning to stay silent rather than roar like the flames he created in the mornings, she did not know why his eyes would linger when he thought she was not looking or even why he rarely smiled at her anymore. If she understood, God help her, she would probably hate the word half less. But for then, she was half-understanding, half-ignored, half-abandoned and half-empty.

_Half-hearted._

It was the one she hated most, that half type. Those little moments that would make it flutter, think of pleasant dreams and hope somehow her half-empty self was going to fell the same as she always had in an instant. One day she wanted a pair of wings, something to fly away with and on others she wanted rope to tie him down with her. Make sure that he never left, that the thing she gave him never went away. Because she only had half a heart left. Seeing as two people were two halves of a whole, or so most clichéd idiots seemed to think, that must have meant that only half of her was left. That was something she simply could not allow.

With that in mind, she hated the word half. Half sounded like a tear down the middle of a heart, keeping it in two. Unrequited love, something painful and cruel which you could never blame the other person for. It sounded like something was missing, something was completely gone instead. To break something, it needed to be whole to start with. No glueguns to stick things back together, no sewing kit kept in bags or sticky tape to hold things together. It was no use trying to fix something that was not broken either, so why have them? So she surrendered it, gave in, let him have it completely. So Riza spoke as softly as he did, smiling the entire time as Roy began to grin back with manic happiness.

"You have my whole heart."

Really, _half_ could never have compared.

* * *

Two fifths of the way through! I feel accomplished.

Preview: _A single bead of white paint rolled down the wall, ignoring his paintbrush stubbornly. _


	41. Coat

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **041. Coat**

Dedication: BananaFritter, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Rocky Balboa would make an appearance in it.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_041. Coat_**

* * *

Ignore it.

Ignore what had once been, ignore what they had both felt then, ignore their beauty and ignore their (almost) perfection as a couple. Ignore her pretty little fairy-like face, ignore his dark mysterious attraction and ignore their somehow working oddness when together. Ignore their flawlessness, ignore their devotion and ignore it. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. Ignore them, in all their disgusting gorgeous moments and it made things easier.

Roy stabbed his paintbrush harshly against the wall, creating a ball of paint the size of his fist. He tried to smooth it out instantly, use it to cover the hand prints that were either hers or his that he could never quite remove from his sight enough. A single bead of white paint rolled down the wall, ignoring his paintbrush stubbornly. Down to the small footprint, obviously hers, that had been pressed up against the wall so tightly the sweat marks had stuck there. He wanted to wail desperately, but he bit back his tongue.

White was a symbolisation. The colour of purity, the colour of cleanliness, the colour of innocence. The colour of everything the apartment was not, the colour of everything he wasn't and everything she certainly was not anymore because of him. Not in his eyes. His eyes that had burned on every inch of her skin, his clawing hands and desperate grabs. Her blank stare, her barely-there kiss and almost frozen touch. She had not wanted it to happen. She had avoided it for so long, knowing it was between them. Those inches between their mouths as they breathed, the centimetres between their fingers when taking paperwork from the desks of one another and the millimetres between their bodies. She had taken precautions, oh so many precautions and he had ended up wanting her more than ever. Ignoring himself, his thoughts, ignoring her and what they could be had never been easy. She just made it harder, and it made him want her all the more.

Of all the broken-hearted, desperate, pathetic people to fall in love with, of all the men better than him, with stunning smiles and too much money. Of all the slipping up idiots with loose lips and all the higher-ups who could have given her anything she wanted. She had fallen in love with him, and she had fallen hard. He had fallen for her too, much harder. She fell like a feather; he fell like a burning blimp. That was the comparison. The ugly comparison that was too hard, too vicious and cynical but true. He never had much grace when it came to acceptance. Especially not with her. Anybody could see she was too good for him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a slamming on the wall. Miniature, almost unnoticeable paint flecks fell down from the patch he had just been painting. He stared at the blonde hair cascading down her back for mere seconds before his eyes shifted to the wall. She had punched it, and the cheap plaster he had used had cracked under her knuckles, though not without her enduring pain. A recognisable crimson liquid slid in small splotches downwards from the place where skin and material had connected, clearly coming from her.

Riza stared down at him, eyes wide in some mixture of pain and amusement. He had been hiding something, ignoring everything they were becoming and the pain in her fist would not help her ignore any other pain. Especially not the deep, aching pangs in her heart. What were they doing this for? Kidding themselves they could stay together, ignoring that they probably could not. Ignoring that she had tried to put distance between them, ignoring that it was wrong, ignoring that they had fallen and ignoring that they cared about it. Ignoring that it was already far too late to take their hearts back. She slumped to the floor instantly, grabbing a second paintbrush that was lying next to the one he had been using. Just one more would not hurt anyone. Another touch, another grab, another kiss.

Another coat of paint.

* * *

The wrong kind of coat, but to be honest I do not care. The idea for the coat meant, the clothing item, has been so annoyingly overused that I scrapped it immediately. Came out with this bundle of angst as a result, but believe me, it is still better.

Preview: _They rarely spent a day apart. _


	42. Day Off

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **042. Day Off**

Dedication: OTP, you gave me my six hundredth review! I am so happy! Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Pinako would bathe in money.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_042. Day Off_**

* * *

Nobody had a day off.

Thus, Riza came to a conclusion. They rarely spent a day apart. If someone were to spend a day off, there would be turmoil. Unless they were in hospital or it was for something extremely important like their own wedding, it just was not done. Days off caused sloppiness, and if someone were the one to take a call instead of another that got them killed? Well, that incident would remain imprinted in the mind of the other who had let them do so. In their sleep their would be turmoil, frantic dreams and distant lullabies from when they were children. Screeching violins, broken screams and petrified shouts. Sounds of destruction, sounds of revolt, sounds of death that would never leave them.

Once, she had broken her arm. The thought of something like that had haunted her. If someone were to go out instead of her (like Roy, the idiot who was useless in the rain) then she would never forget. Her stomach would churn, wanting to remove the contents and her head would spin so fast she would think someone had attacked her. Adrenaline, fear and some strange exhilaration it was not her instead would pump through her veins and she would feel that sickening guilt that she was sure long ago she had felt. That disgusting, loathsome feeling that crept through her body. She knew it long ago and it held inside her, laying dormant inside her heart. She just knew she had.

But today, the sky had subtle variations of blue, the dark grey building and the iron fences, even the walls standing around it, pastel yellow and bricked, could not distract her from the misery it presented in contrast to the luscious green park with sun shining down on it just across the road. She eyed it wistfully, then sighed, knowing it was a pathetic dream. She would go at night time instead, although by then it would be dark and sullen, crickets chirping and almost sounding ominous as she walked the thin rock and dirt path in the waning moonlight. That would be just as fine, she told herself, although she knew it could not possibly compare in the slightest. She could kid herself, just like all the other times.

"Go on, I do not mind. I will say you are sick." An encouraging, devilish voice came from behind her. Roy Mustang, the very man she was protecting by not giving in was standing behind her. He was on time for once, and he must have seen her expression of wanting. She almost found herself agreeing to his offer, but then shook her head. A definite no. He shrugged his shoulders, sighing. It was her loss, she guessed.

"You will get yourself killed without me here." She stated, almost as though it were a well known fact. He grinned sheepishly, ruffling the back of his hair with a single hand in an awkward gesture of embarrassment. He knew it was true, and that much was obvious. She breathed out in exasperation, a content sigh of relief that he had seen her point for once, and seen it fit not to argue back. Or so she thought. A sudden recognisable glint of evil flashed in his eyes instantly, and he grabbed her hand without a second thought then yanked her arm quickly. She had no chance but to move with him, or her arm would have been pulled off altogether. He laughed as she struggled, dragging her even further in the opposite direction of the building they were supposed to be entering. It was like they were five years old again, running from the large home she had lived in when her father found out Roy had used his flame alchemy on her whim.

"Riza, live while you can." Roy told her as they reached the gate on the opposite side of the park. She stared at him, suddenly understanding. He was late, and he took days off unnecessarily. This explained everything, however. One day, she might wake up, and realise that her entire life had passed her by. He did not want that to happen to him, and he would never allow it to happen to her. If she did not wake up, too, if she died somehow and he was responsible? She would never have lived, not knowing the simple pleasures in life. Happiness, kindness, joy, laughter, the change of seasons, the crisp snowflakes of winter, the butterflies in spring, the summer heat and autumn leaves, even love. What was a life without love? She smiled.

"You too, Roy. You too."

* * *

Kind of a silly drabble, with underlying love at the end. Sorry I have not updated in so long. I did not have a themes list, and my internet was pretty much dead until the tenth (this Friday) so I was unsure of what the theme was because I had started it and not titled it because I do that only after I have finished this. So I am really sorry to anyone if they were waiting for this! I am going to try to start updating sooner to compensate.

Preview: _"They say the wind makes fire stronger. It raises it up, you see."_


	43. Wind

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **043. Wind**

Dedication: Chess. Because, let us face it. She can only save it for back alleys, not bedrooms.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Spongebob would have made a guest appearance by now.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_043. Wind_**

* * *

She never questioned much.

"They say the wind make fire stronger. It raises it up, you see." Roy told her, a soft look on his face as the flames rose up in his hand. A young Riza watched, clearly fascinated by the strange phenomenon. He smirked with victory, feeling joy at having impressed the young daughter of the master. Well, not that young. She was almost as old as him, and she wasn't very pretty and girly where she cut her own hair messily despite the protests of many of the maids, who got awfully worried that her father would lose his tempter if he saw that they had allowed her to do something like that. She had not listened, though. She rarely did listen to others, unless she saw reason to. That was one of the first things he learned about her.

His victorious feeling soon disappeared when he looked around though, seeing the master himself standing only a few steps away, watching them closely. The flame in his hand disappeared in a second, changing into a wisp of smoke and nothing else to prove that it had ever even existed. He swallowed down the lump suddenly building in his throat, knowing that unlike with most of the females of the household flashing them a dashing grin would not work with the man before him. Hawkeye was rarely manipulated.

"Mustang, who do you think will make you stronger?" He asked, staring directly at the boy with seemingly deep interest. Roy chewed his bottom lip. Well, there were a lot of things. There was his foster mother, wise and knowing so much about him, even then at fifteen. There was the man who asked the question himself, wise with age and power, intelligent beyond resonable belief but sometimes cruel. Then there was one more person, who really, was probably the most obvious choice of them all.

"Riza." He said, looking at the girl. She stared at him, all wide red-brown eyes and an open mouth of wonder. The older Hawkeye let a small smile slide unto his face, a gentle and strange look of simply knowing. He nodded, a hand raising to his chin in deep thought. Both of the children looked at him, waiting for a reaction to indicate something, to indicate anything even.

"Well then, would you call yourself fire?" He asked, before turning on heel and walking in the opposite direction. The pair watched his retreating back fade as he became closer to the house, soon a small pinpoint in the distance. Riza stared at his back even when Roy finally lost his focus, returning back to do nothing in particular. On the summer days which were not for studying with his teacher, rare as they were, were to be spent writing letters home and talking to Riza about nothing in particular, sitting under the old sycamore tree not far away from the mansion and filling with trivial things, but things that were important nonetheless. Happy memories, full of better times if things ever went wrong.

"No, not unless I have a wind." Roy answered, though to who he was not sure. The man could not hear him. But Riza could, and Riza laughed at his words. Picking up a sycamore leaf, she twirled it between her thumb and fingers, watching it as it spun on her whim. Standing up, she smiled directly at him happily before turning her back on his and heading after her father, leaving only a few words with him. Beautiful, gorgeous words that he would never quite understand as well as he wanted too.

"Then I will be your wind. I will hold you up." She stated. Because she would never let any harm to him, let him be hurt or injured, not even by a rubber bullet or a stone that was thrown at him. Because the wind was supposed to make fires rise up, and she would never let him fall. Not once, no, because that would make everything so wrong and she loved him so much, even though she was young. It was not that she was foolish, but she was certain of that. She would always hold him up.

Even if it killed her.

* * *

Interesting, Doctor Spock. I actually did one with them as teenagers, technically children. Very soon apart from the last drabble, too.

Preview: _He never missed a thing. _


	44. Hair

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **044. Hair**

Dedication: Anyone attending ExCeL London anime convention. See end note for details.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would have his own personal theme song by The Hazzards.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_044. Hair_**

* * *

"Your hair is getting longer."

Roy made his observation public. Riza looked up at him, the lengthening blonde hair swaying slightly as she did so. He never missed a thing. That much was clear. But if that was so, he would have realised by then the reason why her hair was being grown out to begin with. A complex, strange man such as himself surely would not see the small things, and perhaps it was better that way, with him looking at the big picture. One day, he would wake up simply knowing, and that was good enough for her. She smiled.

"I guess so." She said, reaching behind her head and feeling the grown out ends. It almost felt foreign, the strange feeling of light threads tickling the back of her neck. She was not used too it, not after the incident when they were younger and he had set fire to her hair. By accident, of course, but she had decided she liked her hair an awful lot better when it almost made her resemble a boy. Her logic at the time had been that her father had always wanted one, and perhaps that would make him more interested in her and proud of some of the things she could do. She used to play the clarinet, could beat even boys in arm wrestling contests, so many tiny insignificant things. But they had never impressed him. Nothing had, not even when she took up her weapon. She had not let it dishearten her at the time, but she no longer had a reason to keep her hair the way it was. Not when certain people she knew found longer hair more attractive.

"I will buy you some accessories for it once it has grown out. I think it will look good." The man sitting at the desk across from her stated absently, clearly not focusing all too much on his own words. Her sooty eyelashes reached downwards as she averted her gaze, staring at the sheet of paper in front of her. It had been there for a while, and it did not seem to be going anywhere. She scribbled quickly where Roy was supposed to have signed a week ago. Nobody would notice, least of all him. He rarely did what he was meant to do. Paperwork was one of the things. Knowing the truth was another.

"You cannot be sure of that." Riza stated, scribbling yet another signature that should have been his. He looked up again, she could tell. The sound of his pen pressing against a crisp page without making any marks had gone, and she could feel his gaze lingering on her. Swallowing the lump building in her throat, she looked up to see him smiling at her unlike the way he usually did. The cocky, arrogant look was replaced with one close to some form of softness, although she could not be sure. He was a good liar, and an even better pretender. Not that she ever told him. It was better him thinking that she could put two and two together.

"Everything about you is always beautiful to me." He said, then looked down again, suddenly concentrating furiously on the blank sheet of paper in front of him. A small, secret smile formed on her lips, one of mirth and some form of happiness. He was not as unknowing as he acted. She let her hand slide up her body from by her side, calming the fastening beat of her heart. She doubted he missed that, either. No, he never missed a thing. Not him. He knew from the start that it would happen. Falling in love with each other. He just did not think it was worth mentioning, because one thing was for certain.

Nothing would change it.

* * *

Sort of bad for the theme. Ack. Yes, but in relation to the note above. Anyone going to ExCeL London anime convention, if you see a slightly deranged looking version of Yamanaka Ino from the manga/anime Naruto on Saturday (I am not going on Sunday, unfortunately) then feel free to say hello. Hugs for the team mate of the big sexy (otherwise known as Chouji Akimichi) are also greatly appreciated.

Preview: _You learn to sleep in the middle of the double bed. _


	45. Awakening

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **045. Awakening**

Dedication: Charlie, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Chris Mustang would be married to Lust.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_045. Awakening_**

* * *

Her hand slid over the sheets.

When you are alone, you learn to do so many things, such as learning sleeping routines. When you crawl into the empty space, devoid of any other human warmth or life and your hands slide over the plain white sheets. You learn to sleep in the middle of the double bed. You learn that crumpled pillows can be made into mountains for you to cling to, and the sheets become the closest thing to a person you have. They can even become the closest thing to the person you love when you wind them around your body as you roll in your sleep, reminiscent of crinkled hands that created heat creeping over your skin.

Riza depended on that crumpled pillow man to be like he had been. She needed the heat of it to encapsulate her body like a cocoon, to hold her where nobody could see her until daybreak and her awakening. Because when that time came, she would once again need to heave herself away from him, and tear their bond together once more until she could return to his silky embrace. Tangled in between his material arms, safe and protected in her home. He would never let any harm come to her.

But on rare days, she did not see the crumpled-sheet man, with his face without features creased into her pillow. Instead, rough hands replaced the sleek sheet caresser, careful in their small touches. The pillows changed from mountains and featureless faces to being fleshed out and skinned, with tanned skin and rosy red cheeks that were full of life. The bald silk was replaced by a full head of clean raven hair, smooth and tamed, but wild under her fingers and she tangled it with her touch. Chapped lips crinkled and became smoother, tamed by spit into two moist rose petals pushed together. The warm breath the new man emitted would spread over the pillow, heating her more than the capturing limbs of the sheets.

Then when the time came for her awakening, she wouldn't have to force her eyes open with sheer willpower. She did not awake to a fairytale, with gentle rays of sun flitting lines over her face through the shafts of the plain white blinds, and a Prince by her side. No birds sung as her reddish brown eyes gazed upon the world, but instead she felt that she was greeted with a much more pleasant sight. The man with closed eyes, warmth emitting from his body that stay as still as a stone, right beside her, one arm usually draped over her waist, just clinging to her like a life raft to stay afloat. Like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

In those times, her hand would no longer slide over the sheets, and she wouldn't need to sleep in the middle of the double bed. Just like her clung to her, that man of flesh and blood, she would cling to him. She would no longer need to trap the sheets in her fist, and for that short amount of time she didn't need the sheet man and there really was a person next to her. With their limbs wound around one another, they would never need sheet men and women again, especially when their eyes finally met. Roy knew that just as well as Riza did, and so he tried not to leave her to the fake man, made of whispers and distant dreams then materialised in spun silk that circled around her body. No, instead Roy would hold her. Then sometimes, he could wake earlier then she did, and see her sleeping peacefully.

Then see her smile at the time of her awakening.

* * *

A fluffy little piece.

Preview: _Her nights were filled only with innocent intentions._


	46. All Night Vigil & Sleepless Night

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **046. All Night Vigil / Sleepless Night**

Dedication: frOnt anD cEnteR community, run by aPpLecHeRry and sixteen members of staff. Thank you for the add to your c2!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Alphonse would be dating Scar.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_046. All Night Vigil / Sleepless Night_**

* * *

Roy was one of the worst of men.

Though he liked to think it was not his fault. He blamed Master Hawkeye, cruel and violent. He blamed the war, sickening and destructive. He blamed Riza. Because really, even with all the things that came before her, she was the thing that made him so terrible. She was a delicious temptation, dangled in front of his face, ready for tasting and looking delectable with such plump lips which were as red as juicy apples when she bit into them with her front teeth. She could show him everything he wanted, and make it always just slightly out of reach every single day of his life. She was a sin without name, and twice as cruel as any of them. They could cut and slice, they could slit and kill, but she would rot him from the inside like a slow acting poison. She would creep into his body and control his heart in an instant.

"Can I sleep here?" He whispered into her letterbox, for the two hundredth and sixth time (he had counted each time, knowing it was enough of their lives but not really caring) and heard her breathe out, letting out only a small insignificant noise of complaint before he heard a clang of small chains flipping to hit the door, the sound of her opening the door. The door opened, and he fell backwards unto the floor, breathing in the smell of Riza that the apartment was cloaked in. She kicked him gently, his signal to move. He shot up immediately, without even asking where he was staying. He already knew.

"Why do you even ask?" Riza said as he collapsed into her plush cream sofa. She always kept it clean, the pillows puffed up and comfy. But he would come along and change it all, crashing into it and crumpling the entire thing into a mess in an instant. But she never complained. Instead it would take her five minutes to excuse herself, grab a bundle of blankets and the like and lumber them on his body as he curled into a ball and closed his eyes. Then she would give him the look, her gorgeous eyes lingering on him as she smiled a little before leaving the room for bed. Her nights were filled only with innocent intentions. Unlike him, even if she never knew. Not even in his more desperate times.

Then the nights when he still could not sleep, not even with her natural smell surrounding him, more comforting and softer than she liked to act, he would see the real Riza Hawkeye. Clambering into her bedroom, he would slide unto the bed next to her. Despite the fact the sheets were wound around her body, keeping her warm, he would never bring the covers she gave him. Instead, he would hold on to her, in those sleepless nights. Sometimes she would already have slid into slumber, her eyes closed tight and breathing ever so gently. Then on other nights, she would still be awake. On those nights he had to try the hardest. He could not whisper the desires, the half-truths, tell her everything she wanted to hear. Not even he could believe them. But there was one thing he would whisper.

"I love you." He would mutter, in that way that just made Roy himself. She would not reply, and she never said anything about it, and he knew she never accepted it. He could tell her a hundred, no, a thousand, even a million times, and she would never believe it. Riza had never really believed in anything but him. So because he had always told her, never shown her, he knew it. He was making it feel like nothing, this strange relationship they had. He had never kissed her. Not once. Yes, he really was the worst of men. Or maybe, by not trying to force her to love him, he was something else entirely. Something she never said to him. In her eyes, he was the best of men.

Roy was the man she loved.

* * *

I do not like this one in the slightest. The end was drab.

Preview: _She finally understood what Maes had meant when he told her that it was hard to understand human imperfection._

Reviews are loved. :)


	47. In The Dead Of The Night

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **047. In The Dead Of The Night**

Dedication: Guardian Spirit, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Olivier would have a secret incestuous relationship with a sibling.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_047. In The Dead Of The Night_**

* * *

Some nights, Riza could not sleep.

She'd toss and turn in between the sheets, creasing them softly in her hands to give herself something to do. Her hair would become a tangled golden mess, reminiscent of when she was far younger, far more naive and far more innocent. When the only thing she and Roy had to worry about was getting in trouble, or losing a pen, or something silly and trivial like that. When they had not known the meaning of war, when they had believed that everything could be solved with peace and the worst injuries they could get were scabby knees, bruised arms and the odd burn.

Maes had told her many things, a long time ago. He had told her about happiness, how if it was real it was different. That it was only found in certain places. That very rarely, you could find it in other people. He had told her that love was something rare, and when the tiniest kindred flame of it was found it should be cared for despite anything. She had understood everything he said at the time, except one thing. It was hard to understand human imperfection, let alone accept it. But now, she was growing older with each passing day, and she was not young and fresh to the real world.

But in those nights, she still liked the optimistic views of dead dreams. She finally understood what Maes had meant when he told her that it was hard to understand human imperfection. When she could not sleep, it was through worry of needing to keep Roy safe. Through needing him alive, being selfish enough to keep him with her despite anything. Without him, she had nothing to hold on to. Nothing to care for. Maes may have been the one to teach her so much, but he was the one to make her understand. He showed her happiness, in the smallest smiles and the lightest touch. He showed her love.

Love in the way that in those nights she could not sleep, he would come to her looking just as disoriented, just as worn away from years of indifference to bloodshed, just as tired and defeated by life. He would crawl in between her arms, his keys to her home discarded on the floor, soft short dark hair curling around her long blonde strands to create a mess of completely different colours. Their hands would intertwine with one another, fingers creeping together like small, loving butterflies. Butterflies were short lived, existed for only two weeks, but made the most of their existence. Just like they were learning to.

Because in their short lives, they could not do what anyone else could. They were unable to make their own choices, knowing what was really beneath the surface of their rulers. They knew the darkest of secrets, hidden by men for centuries. They knew of the homonculi. They were never meant to. In another life, Riza supposed they could have had better. She could have had a kind father. He could have learned at a young age not to play with fire. She would never learn to shoot a gun. He would achieve his goals without her. If things had been a little different, they might not ever have even met.

Even in the world she currently lived in, she could never want that. Without Roy, her purpose was gone. Without him, she would not know true happiness. She would not know love. All in exchange for peace of mind, for an easier life, for sleep. Although sometimes it was appealing, this other life, a strong temptation, she could never give in. She could never give him up. He was a sweet addiction. A new home would have been nice, of course. But in those tangled sheets, wound around him, she always knew exactly why she had clung to the teachings of a dead friend and clung to Roy. Home was where he was. A new life could not possibly compare in the slightest, despite the small appeals.

Not without him.

* * *

Late update. Dead internet, destroyed connection because of a terrible antivirus programme (yet another failure of Windows, for those who know of Antivirus Pro 2009, bearing in mind it will not let me remove it and it is blocking nearly every single website I attempt to go on) means that getting this up was not easy. Sorry!

Preview: _He cannot read her. Not when she does that._

Reviews are loved. :)


	48. Side Of Face

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **048. Side of Face**

Dedication: Ziek, I love you. ;_;

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, there Riza and Olivier would be together, with Winry as their son.

* * *

**Angles**

**

* * *

**

**_048. Side of Face_**

* * *

A cold wave of fear came over him.

He cannot read her. Not when she does that. When she turns her face to the side, looks away from him, he cannot see her eyes. He always knew what she was thinking by her eyes. Her eyes betrayed everything to him. The crimson-chocolate orbs she possessed weren't even looking at him, let alone paying attention to anything he had to tell her. Nothing he said or did would get her to care.

"Riza, you need to run." He dropped all formalities, his voice quaking as he spoke. She stood firmly in place, despite the roar of commands he knew she could hear, and the thundering sound of feet as the soldiers who had once been their friends began to tear through the building to find them. She released the safety trigger on one of her pistols, and raised it as the sound of one splash of feet separated from the rest. It was coming towards them. Riza never liked to hurt those she had known, but it seemed today would make everyone but him and those still loyal to them and what they stood for an exception.

"Incorrect, Sir. You are the one they will kill if caught. They need me for information." She stated. A man turned the corner, and before he could even let out a single sound a gunshot echoed in the hallway. One man down, dead within seconds. Riza was the best shot in the military. At least he had not suffered. His blood pooled into the sewer water eerily. The bullet shell swam in the water, a reminder that she was there for a reason and that reason was to fight. He glared at it before redirecting his gaze to her once more.

"I can turn this entire place to ash. Get rid of them all. Just run." Three more men came, yelling as they saw their dead comrade. Three shots. They were down too, staining the water an even deeper shade of red. One more shot, and she would need to switch the cartridge. If any more than one came at once, it would be awkward for her to keep it up. But he had known for a long time that Riza never gave up, never stopped, because she saw it as worse than defeat. A true soldier died in battle, alongside their friends. Those they loved. A coward died alone and old, with nobody left. She had believed that for a long time.

"Shut up. You know the sewer water will prevent you from using anything big, unless you strain yourself, and if you do strain yourself the space is too confined and you will die along with them. I, on the other hand, can let you escape. I can let you live, and as my higher up, you will. As long as you do as I say, for once." She put the gun down to her right side and took out her second one. Another two down in the blink of an eye. Unless she was saving that bullet for a certain reason, he did not see why she had not reloaded.

"You are supposed to follow my commands, not the other way around." He said. Finally, she turned to face him. Her features were blank. The normal upwards tilts at the corners of her mouth were gone, the eyebrows normally furrowed into anger or worry gave away nothing. But her eyes, they danced. This was her fight, and there was nothing she would rather be doing at that time then letting him live. Just as she had always done.

"You are not my God." She stated the fact, turning around completely. He studied her coat covered back for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. No more had ran near them yet. But she was a sentinel, ready for her duty. She was going to guard him, just as she was supposed to, unless he did something to stop her from acting like he mattered. Then, it finally dawned on him. His eyes widened.

"But I am the man you love." He whispered. She dropped the gun full of bullets, and released some cartridges from her belt before carelessly kicking them towards him. She only needed one bullet. She sat next to him in the filth, staring at the passage and waiting for them to come. She gestured the gun in her hand, lightly mentioning the one remaining bullet as though it were a light topic of conversation, despite the fact he could see tears beginning to well in the corners of her sharp eyes.

"So, is this for me, you or Bradley?"

* * *

This sucked, and it is late again because my computer fails life. Rage.

Preview: _"Riza, answer me. Please."_


	49. Cold Hands

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **049. Cold Hands**

Dedication: x. lithium, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy's sex would be on fire (yes, I did just mock Kings of Leon.)

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_049. Cold Hands_**

* * *

"Riza, answer me. Please."

His desperate voice was close to cracking, tired and pleading. It was begging him to let it die out, to give up and stop the croaking it must have been pretty sure would be endless. It was a living thing, just like he was, but he would show it no mercy. The bloodshot eyes of the blonde woman met his quickly before looking away once more. Instead, she looked into the shattered depths of the broken mirror in front of her, seeing her face reflected in the twenty-something different shards. The bullet embedded in the center had been the cause of it no longer possessing any usefulness. It seemed that just as bullets ruined humans, they could also destroy objects with a fair amount of ease.

"What do you want me to say?" She answered, still staring at her reflection as her hands ran across the wooden vanity table, searching for certain items of the makeup contained in pots and tubes that were splayed messily across it. She was always ordered, always correct and had the finesse of a watch maker. Every little thing was usually in the exact place she wanted to be, always consistent and perfected to the point where she no longer had to alter anything because it was put together exactly how she wanted it to be. But this was not always. This was not right. This was so wrong he could not quite put it into words.

"This is wrong. This is not supposed to happen." Roy stated fiercely. She finally found the object of her desire, clasping her fingers around a thin tube of shining red lipstick before removing the lid and flinging it over her shoulder without a second thought. She lifted the coloured stick to her lips, coating them quickly before dropping it to the table. It landed the wrong way up, striking the table and staining the mahogany colour of the wood brightly. He looked at it, sensing her disorientation and knowing that no matter how much she was trying to cover up her panic and apprehensive thoughts it could never work. Not with him.

"I am only getting married, Colonel. What is wrong with that?" She asked, snatching her mascara up and lengthening her already thick, volumised eyelashes. He had always pegged her as the type wanting a simple wedding, even when she was young. But her dress was beaded and extravagant, barely covering the black burn marks that were carved into her back. Her hair was in corkscrew curls, the silky curtain cascading down her back softly. He could swear that he had never seen her looking more gorgeous a day in his life if he wanted, but it was not true. She was not his from this day onwards, and never would be. However, he knew he could still try and remember the days when she really was the best thing he would ever know. Those almost impossibly rare mornings when she had been late, and he had let himself in. Those mornings, when she had been tangled in between bedsheets, her hair messed up and almost resembling a birds nest, and she was in her pajamas with her mouth ever so slightly open. That was when she was the most beautiful.

"I love you." It slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. His selfish words. She was breaking his heart. Her hand roamed upwards in between her broken reflection, and pulled out the bullet embedded in the wood. She held it in her calloused palm before she turned around and cautiously held it out to him, like some odd sort of peace offering. She could not meet his eyes. Her lips were turned downwards as he took it. She was leaving him something to remember her by, just in case. She hated that she was going to cry. She hated that she could not help it. She hated that her words to him were so bitter.

"Why did you not tell me sooner?" She whispered, staring at his fingers as they closed around the small chunk of metal. He blinked slowly, breathing in the suddenly lessening amount of air he felt was around him as he felt his heart sending sharp pangs through his system. He was going to black out in a moment, if she kept torturing him as exquisitely as she was doing right then. Then he felt it. Her cold hands grabbed him, and pulled him towards her. Their lips crashed together, her fingers running through his hair and holding him there just for a moment. She needed his warmth. She needed him. He pulled away quickly. Her skin was so icy, sending small shivers through his body. He doubted it was possible, but he had to try. Just in case. On the smallest chance she loved him, on anything. He would take any scraps she threw him.

"Is your heart frozen, too?"

* * *

I suppose I am being rather depressing after New Year, probably because I hate it. But on the good hand, I am almost half way through this collection, and this time last year I think I was nowhere near to feeling like I had accomplished something with this.

Preview: _They crawled over his skin._


	50. Fingertips

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **050. Fingertips**

Dedication: Adenosine, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Armstrong would quote the Bible spontaneously.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_050. Fingertips_**

* * *

Her fingertips.

They crawled over his skin. Reaching the deep creasing line down his back, they rested. Riza probably knew to go no lower. Both she and the man sitting down had back problems, of sorts. He was in a wheelchair, paralysed, not by his own fault but by the fault of the man who was watching them intently. Riza herself had burns carved into her back, an alchemical diagram dug into her soft flesh by her father. A selfish insensitive thought struck Roy as he met the grey-blue eyes of Jean Havoc; that maybe if he had injured his back, or became somehow disfigured, maybe she would come running to him instead. He had every other girl. It was just that he did not want them. He wanted her, and no matter what disgusting thoughts came out of him he could not help it. He probably never would be able too, if things continued like this.

"Jean. I was not aware you were able to get beautiful women to date you yet." Roy gave him a practiced, faux expression of smugness. Havoc grinned back playfully, whilst Hawkeye had the self preservation to know when not to speak just in case she created a disaster and pressed her lips together tightly into a thin line, giving him a look which told him she very much suspected him of doing something wrong. Even if she did not know exactly what it was, she had always been able to tell everything about him in a single glance every day. But tonight had to be an exception. Either that, or her guess was one she did not dare to believe in. She was too kind to think of the real reason, too good to think of what he really felt.

"Jealous, Roy? You may be powerful, but my lovely companion here will have everybody on their knees. What power do you possess, again?" The eyes of his (sort of) friend twinkled brightly, mischievous and challenging. He knew he had won something, even if he was not quite aware exactly what it was. Unsuccessfully Roy tried to master the same expression quickly, ultimately failing as Hawkeye began to walk towards someone he expected to be a strangely very feminine looking Olivier Armstrong. He would not trust that woman with anything, especially the person he favoured most. Roy grinned at Havoc before leaning down, quietly whispering into his ear.

"Of course. She is the only woman I will ever actually love." Shock was set loose over his features, creasing into the small wrinkles beginning to form around his eyes as an icy look came over them. Havoc stared at him a few seconds, their eyes in direct contact, the mere centimeters between them suddenly feeling like miles. They were so close, and yet an endless void had just been created between them with a few words.

"I refuse to hand her over, Mustang." Jean replied quietly. He had probably known that Roy had never expected him to. Riza was the sort of woman who made you feel like you were the most amazing person in the world, although she treated you just as well as she treated anybody else. She was something else entirely, and at the least expected moment you would realise something that you would never expect. You had fallen in love with her. It did not matter who you were, what you had done, anything. She accepted it, and acceptance was just the very thing both men needed right then.

"I will have to take her, then." Roy replied, immediately turning his back on the other male as the two woman approached, Olivier looking rather merrier than normal and Riza herself looking slightly apprehensive. They both smiled at the blondes, flashing bright smiles at them with ease. It seemed nothing looked wrong to them, for they grinned back except much more easily. They made no comment upon the tension in the air, which could probably have been cut only with the sharpest sword. Olivier grinned.

"Champagne, Führer Mustang?"

* * *

If Riza could not be his, I doubt Roy would want her to be the 'other half' to anybody. Even if it was a man to whom he owed his life, yet was also in debt to him.

Preview: _Falling would be different this time._


	51. Embracing From The Back

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **051. Embracing From The Back**

Dedication: 6StringSamurai13, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Riza would be the one in charge.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_051. Embracing From The Back_**

* * *

"Tonight, I will fall for you."

Roy said it so quietly that she almost did not catch his words. She did not question what he meant, because she knew. This time was not like all the other times. This was not just a few words he would say and never really mean, or a gesture he made or a handmade gift to show he cared. It was not flowery because the words pricked and cut, they stung her throat like she had swallowed a bundle of bees, they made her eyes water like she had just seen something so surreal and hurtful that she knew she would never be able to understand. Not in the slightest.

When she was young and he embraced her from the back, he would spin her like a madman and she would not even squeal if he dropped her, and she fell and scraped her knees like other little children. Although she was a young lady, she wore her hair short, and it only contributed to making her look even more like a boy. She ignored the pain. When they were teenagers, the clinging stopped and she could no longer fall. She became even more quiet. He father died, and even then he could not hold her. All he could do was turn away, in hope that she would take control of the situation, because no matter how much he held her he knew it would make no difference. He had been correct. But now she was an adult, and when he embraced her from the back she would fall again. Although, this time, falling would not be the same at all. This time, she could do nothing about it. Scraped knees could be healed. But hearts were frailer, and this time when she fell she would have to take care of hers because this time it would be in love.

"I cannot repair the damage this time." Riza replied, as his arms slipped around her waist, grabbing her tightly. He buried his forehead in the curve of her neck, his charcoal black hair brushing against the wispy blonde strands coming loose from her plain, practical hairstyle in small strands around the back of her neck. She parted her lips slightly, allowing herself to breathe. When he clung so tightly, showed that he needed her that much, she never really knew what to do. What to say. What she could even manage anymore, because he confused her and worried her more than anybody ever could, and she was certain that fact would never change. In a way, it was obvious that it would end like this.

"You could not change my mind if I wanted you to." He told her, as though what he had just said made things simple. Really, every time he held her, it made things so much harder. Every time he said she was strong, it almost made her weep. He never knew that was because nothing else scared her apart from the idea, the thought or the act of losing him. His actions and words were no longer fulfilling. If they were a drink, they could never quench her thirst and if they were food she would remain starved. Because one thing was for certain. Neither his words or his actions were enough. Not anymore. Never. She turned and kissed him.

Their lips collided dangerously. It was against the rules, disallowed. Forbidden, and anything but within the boundaries of the laws they had chosen to abide by some time ago. But now, they no longer kept the same rules. They fought against what they had once followed. Instead of following the dreams of the cruel and merciless, those who would allow war just to cause pain to others, they followed their own dreams and tried to find a way in which there could be peace. No injuries. Less pain. As little as could be. So far, they had had a few casualties. But no deaths. Yet she knew it was possible. There were many things that people would do for money or power, but both put together were far outnumbered by the things people would do for love, and for this man who embraced her from the back? She knew she would do anything.

"Then I will fall over again."

* * *

I guessed it has been a while since I wrote something quite nice. How very awful of me. I hope you can forgive me, especially seeing as my halfway mark was rather angst-filled. Why do Roy and Riza make me write angst? I want to see them in the manga more again, but maybe this is because the sense of foreboding I am getting from the idea of reaching the end of it?

Preview: _"Really, Riza, it is just a hair clip." _

Reviews are loved. :)


	52. Hair Clip

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **052. Hair Clip**

Dedication: Kisanath, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Havoc would still have the use of his legs. Injustice to the sexy is wrong. Very wrong.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**052. Hair Clip**_

* * *

"Really, Riza, it is just a hair clip."

Her face remained joyful as she looked at the gift that was on the desk in front of her. Although he had wanted the gift to please her, he had not imagined that she would be that happy with such a simple item. Perhaps he should have known better. Riza was not one to build her love based on moonlight strolls and expensive gifts. Her affection (rarely displayed as it was) could only be gained from the simplest things, such as a few caring words or a knowing smile. Yet even so, a hair clip was such a insignificant item and he could not understand in the slightest why she was so ecstatic about it.

"It is special, because it is from you." She replied, a little grin lighting up her face. He supposed that was it. He never really gave her many gifts, through lack of organisation. His memory was not really made for remembering numbers and figures, either. He often forgot birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, the more significant things. But he had thought a little gift would be nice, even without any reason to give it. A spontaneous act of kindness, or something to that effect. He grinned wickedly in return, getting a sudden idea which he was not sure she would appreciate as much as the present he had given her.

"Riza, do you want another gift?" He asked slyly, a twinkle lighting up his dark eyes. She looked up at him where he stood, clearly studying the situation with great scrutiny. He might have given her something she loved with a childlike wonder, but she was rarely fooled and after years of knowing him she could easily tell when he was up to something she would probably not agree with. She grabbed the hair clip quickly, playing with it before she answered.

"No." She deadpanned, her flat reply making him feign horror. Too bad, she was going to get it anyway. He leaned forward on the desk, supporting himself with his elbows and looking straight at her before closing his eyes and pressing his lips gently against hers for barely a few seconds.

"Sorry, I wanted to give you it too much." He flashed her a cheeky grin before racing out of the room, leaving her stunned and staring at his blue covered back before the wooden door slammed shut loudly. Her momentary shock soon washed over. Drawing her guns, she thundered towards the door and screeched, hoping wherever he was he was hiding well because if she caught him she would skin him alive. Her boot crashed into the door, knocking it open roughly.

"I hate your gifts!"

* * *

Fluffy piece of junk, because I write too much angst and it is needed in this collection.

Preview: _"Romance is dead." _


	53. Sigh

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **053. Sigh**

Dedication: Chris LaFey, thank you and sorry about our little squabble. How very childish of me, you have nothing to apologise for.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would be more romantic.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_053. Sigh_**

* * *

Riza snorted.

"Romance is dead." She cackled. Normally, she would simply laugh if she ever came across a sight such as this. This had to be the funniest thing so far that day, but she had to admit he previously had some rather close competition. Apparently, this holiday was yet another thing the Armstrong family had been practicing partaking in for generations and the wrestler-like man had been rather hilarious so far. But even so, she had never expected something like this. The Colonel reading. Not just any novel, either. A romance novel. One she was pretty sure she had a copy of at home. He looked up.

"I beg to differ. There are some men, such as Sir Lawrence, who have done marvellous things for the women they love. He saved her from a dragon, yet you say romance is dead?" He proclaimed, flashing a grin at the woman who had taken a seat across from him. She sipped her tea calmly, noting the caffeine intake from his coffee. She knew that the likelihood of him doing something which could possibly make him more intelligent was unlikely, she thought snidely. How typical. He needed to know there were no sighing damsels, no Princes or wizards. No fairy tale endings. Life was not like that in the slightest.

"Sir Lawrence is a fictional character, Roy. You know dragons do not exist." She said curtly, turning to look outside the window. She noted Havoc had just been turned down again, but the woman who had clearly told him looked rather interested in Roy. Armstrong was astounding many women with his flamboyant nature. Fuery seemed to be attracting many women with his quiet, kind nature, not that he seemed to notice. Breda was stuffing his face with chocolate. Falman looked like a stone through the bookstore window, and he was clearly pretending he did not know any of them. She had just crushed Roy. It was going rather well. This Valentines Day fiasco had to be the best one of the three years they had been in Central.

"Well, I would save you from a dragon. That proves it." Roy mumbled, his words barely coherent as he slammed the book on the table. Riza frowned, raising both eyebrows. She supposed he meant it nicely, but it would not do very much good.

"How could you save me from a dragon when you cannot save yourself from the rain?" She shot, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. It disappeared when he leaned forward, looking in her eyes softly and parting his lips ever so slightly. Her heart thumped painfully as he leaned very closely forward. Then he stopped. She did not know whether to thank him, or whether to choke him. She did not even know if she had wanted him to carry on or not.

"Will you do me the pleasure of kissing me?" He asked, taking her hand softly. She stared blankly at him a moment, shock registering before he grinned brightly. She could have quite happily died at that moment. How humiliating. He did not really mean it. Romance really was dead, it seemed. Not that she thought he could be in love with her or anything. Not at all.

"That joke was in poor taste." She muttered, trying to contain her anger. Sure, she did not mind him taking a chance at getting back at her, but she had never been so embarrassed. Or hurt, for that matter. It stung to think he would act like that. So flippant, it was like he did not even know how he made her feel when he did things like that. He stared at her.

"What if I was being serious?"

* * *

Yes, he really was being serious, but the ending is up to you. Having an ambiguous piece is nice once in a while, though I suppose a few readers might find it annoying. I never write for Valentines Day, so this is quite odd. Also, it is not angsty again. Perhaps this is a good sign.

Preview: _"Then can I give my mother a kiss?" _


	54. O Child Sama

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **054. O Child-Sama**

Dedication: InMyWishes, thank you.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, the food would consist of watermelon only.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_054. O Child-Sama_**

* * *

"I want it."

The hand of Roy Mustang protruded from his sleeve to reveal a pointing hand, which he directed at the cake in the window of the bakery across the street. Riza stared at him a moment. It did indeed look delicious, but his demands of that day were beginning to agitate her. He was acting like a spoilt child. Her logic therefore was that punishment would be fitting, and as she looked at the delightful pink-frosted treat she thought of something.

"I noticed you are getting slower." She grinned, knowing directly how he would take the comment. Roy instantly looked shocked, and placed his hand across his mouth in a shocked (and not to mention typically effeminate) gesture. That comment was below the belt.

"That was like a comment you would say to an overweight child, trying to find the nice way to tell them they are fat." Roy stated, still looking aggrieved by her words. She gave him a tired, serious look. Her lips twitched with the effort it was taking her not to smile or laugh in his face. He really was worried about his waistline, but she could not resist torturing him. It made up for all that she had suffered so far that day, being dragged around so many shops searching for a gift. As far as she was concerned, if he wanted a female opinion he could ask Armstrong. He was emotional enough.

"Well, you are a tad overweight, and you do act like a child." Riza replied flatly. An odd gurgling noise erupted from the throat of the man next to her, as though he were trying to suck in the insult and swallow it whole so he would never need to hear it again. He grabbed her arm suddenly, swivelling her around to stare at her with a sudden manic smile she could not say she really liked in the slightest.

"Fine, what are you, my mother?" He huffed, turning his back on the cake. She shrugged at his temper. He would get over it. He always did. She could shove all of her hurt and pain into him whenever she felt like it, and he never threw it back in her face or blamed her for her actions. It was strange, in a way, how they both simply accepted that happened. She made herself sick sometimes, with the things she said. But for then, it was fine. She had not said anything too harsh, and Roy rarely took her comments to heart anyway.

"Sure, why not. Havoc can be your brother. Fuery is your sister. We will all be one happy dysfunctional military family." Riza rambled in a few quick breaths, as fast as she possibly could. Roy chuckled heartily, and then leaned down with the look of a cheeky young boy on his face. The flash of youth in his eyes reminded her of when they were children. Her with her boyish ways, despite her large feminine eyes and delicate wrists and Roy in all of his regal beauty, playing with flames until they danced like perfect pieces of art before her very eyes.

"Then can I give my mother a kiss?" Roy whispered, looking down at her gently. She suddenly felt very aware of how large he was compared to when he was younger. She had been almost as tall as him, once. But he loomed above her, a tower blocking her path. She glared at him with irritation as he leaned down, shoving his chest and forcing him a few steps away from her despite her pounding heart. He always had been a joker. She had been the serious one, who had known when to scream stop at the top of her lungs because her heart was so sore.

"Sorry, I do not agree with incest."

* * *

Riza seems like she has a darker side to me. After the famous scene where she thinks she has lost Mustang in the manga, I really began to think about the Riza behind the serious mannerisms and calm words. Although not too emotional, it seems she mainly vents on Roy with her secrets and the like. This is getting too long for a note.

Preview: _Because he will not cry for himself._


	55. Infectious Crying

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **055. Infectious Crying**

Dedication: Manzi. Heart. :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would promote Crayola™ Treasure Adventures.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_055. Infectious Crying_**

* * *

"Are you crying?"

Falman asked. The silver-haired man stared at her. Riza looked at him weakly, and then gave a small shrug as though it were nothing. Her glance soon drifted back to Roy, whose black pebbles for eyes were focused completely upon the sheet in front of him. His lips were thin and drawn tightly together as though he had been sucking sour lemons, and his knuckles were a stark white with the strength he was holding the arms of his chair with. He looked as though he were about to do it, even though she knew he would not.

"Yes." She finally answered simply, when the silence became too much to bear. In the silence, she could almost hear his heart break. She wished it was a shattering window somewhere else, something being smashed to pieces like an expensive vase, but she knew it was not. It felt so truly unfair that although she had always been there, always been trying to make sure that he was fine that her devotion was the very thing to become their undoing. Either that or it was irony. Or maybe it was just because it had been something foolish to do from the beginning, and it was a sign that she was to be set free. But, she reasoned, she liked her cage. The lack of metal bars, the wooden floors and him. She had grown accustomed to it.

"Why?" Vato eventually managed to ask. The back of his hand pressed against hers to give some sort of comfort as he said it. Maybe he knew it would only make things worse to ask. Maybe it was just one of those things that people needed to know. She really wished it hadn't been. Her throat was sore and aching, tired from not letting out the sobs and screams. Her eyes knew that she needed to keep her mouth shut, though. They did not betray her. More salty tears slid from them down her cheeks, each one feeling like it was giving another bitter sting. Another cut, another bruise. What did it matter, anymore? She would endure it all to stay there. But she had lost her place. She was a toy, now. A doll fit for the King.

"Because." Her answer was evasive. Because he will not cry for himself. Because Roy was losing everything all over again, and he refused to let himself feel miserable about it. It was just another obstacle, to him. So if she cried, she was taking his place. She was doing what he could not. She was doing what she had done all along. She was protecting him. Pretty soon, she would not even be able to do that anymore. So maybe this was even the last time.

Falman gently curled his fingers around her in a vain hope before retiring into the protective dignity only he could ever manage to show well. The door banged as he left. The dark head of hair across the room jolted up at the noise, and his eyes eventually met hers. He was crying. He was actually crying, and Riza did not have a clue what to do about it. Did it mean he did not need her as much as she thought? Had he finally given up? She pursed her lips.

"Why?" She asked, trying to fight back a strangled yell. Roy smiled through his tears, making his way towards her and gently encircling his arms around her smaller body. He could have said anything. He could have lied and told her that it was infectious and that she had made him do it, that he had been peeling onions earlier and it had finally hit him, or even that he was finally resigning and crying for himself for once. But it was all wrong. She was the one going away. She was the one being forced away by a piece of paper to be a hostage. It made him feel selfish to know that she was crying because she was worried about him, and not about herself for that very reason. If she had been terrified, it might have made him feel better about the entire thing. But instead, she was only crying for him. He placed his chin on the top of her golden haired head, and then managed the words he needed to say.

"Because nobody ever cries for you."

* * *

I can never once recall Riza crying for herself. Even in chapter 39, it seems like she is crying more for Roy. Also, my friend read this and said 'hey, you snuck FalmanxHawkeye in there too!'so if you see it, it was unintentional. I just love Falman as a comforter.

Preview: _She was the one to give toothpaste kisses in between brushing her teeth and seeing him walk into the bathroom. _

Reviews are loved. :)

* * *


	56. Skillful & Clumsy

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **056. Skillful & Clumsy**

Dedication: Nayuki bunny-chan. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would have 147% more heart failure.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_056. Skillful & Clumsy_**

* * *

They were in Wonderland.

They had to be, those who thought that Riza was the one who was organised and sorted. She was the one to sort out the paperwork and glue things together when he broke them. She was the one who was always into work on time. She was the one that kept the rules and kept things under control. She was, to the unobservant eye of another, the one who kept things going. The one to make sure everything right. She was the Queen of Hearts, with less cruelty and much more beauty and she was correct in her manner.

Roy was the one who was disorganised and messy. He left paperwork lying around or simply burnt it, and broke everything in his path. He was always late; claiming that a thief stole his cab with a wan smile, or something else to that effect that was equally ridiculous and only Hawkeye would not react to. He was the one trying to rewrite the rules from the inside, and created chaos and disorder that in the future could even lead to civil war. He was, to the less keen eye of anybody walking down the street, the one who made a need for the Queen of Hearts with his antics. He was the Mad Hatter who messed everything up, the Cheshire Cat with a daring smile or the King of Hearts that needed to be kept pinned down, with less madness and much more daring and he always got things wrong.

But what did he care what others thought? She was the one to give toothpaste kisses in between brushing her teeth and seeing him walk into the bathroom. He was the one always ready on time, but letting her take the first cab so nothing looked out of the ordinary. They both broke the rules, with their hidden smiles and soft touches and dreams that had not been dictated by the military-run state. They knew who they were, and they were not in Wonderland at all. They were not fantasy characters wearing garish smiles or feigning innocence with saccharine sweetness and pieces of lace to cover skin.

But like all those in Wonderland, they were slightly challenged. Because everyone in Wonderland had something he or she could not let go of, and to each other they were exactly that. Because they knew what clinging to something was like, they knew what they had, and those who were mad enough to help them were the things that made their lives just that little bit more colourful and strange. A little more worth not having paradise, like those in books. Because Riza was worth the clumsy toothpaste kisses, and Roy was worth every danger they faced and they would never give that up. Because they were all addicts, there in Wonderland.

Things were never as they were never as they seemed.

* * *

You really have to be slightly insane, to see the meaning in this one. Look underneath the underneath, into their lives, and you might just about understand it. I would love to hear some interpretations of this. They would make me smile.

Preview: _Because sometimes, that way, you dream more._

Reviews are loved. :)


	57. Feigning Sleep

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **057. Feigning Sleep**

Dedication: Alexandra. Thank you, my darling. :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, there would be an update already. Grr.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_057. Feigning Sleep_**

* * *

Her eyelashes fluttered gently.

Riza slept so silently, it was a wonder she did not have somebody loud to contrast that next to her in order to make up for the lack of thunder she created. So he knew, anyway. Or rather, he thought he knew. Riza did not sleep much around him. Because sometimes, that way, you dream more. Because nobody could tell you what reality was, what was right, and essentially nobody could take away what she wanted to believe in.

Roy bent down, crouching on his knees and staring at her for a moment. She did not react, if she knew he was there. She disliked the idea of him knowing that she only feigned sleep instead of actually sleeping when he was there. The idea of leaving him to deal with everything by himself terrified her. Not just because he was disorganised, but because he could barely keep himself together at times and she doubted he could protect himself with only his gloves in such an enclosed space. It seemed ridiculous to even think about.

"I love you." Roy whispered. He could never tell her when she was awake. She never said she knew. Maybe that way, she had reasoned with herself, things would stay just the way they were a little longer. Sleeping on cold hard stone slabs and rarely in between the bed sheets of some run down hotel, the scent of gunpowder and ash hanging thickly in the air and then them. She liked them just being them, instead of dodging and weaving and trying to stay strong for one another. They did enough of that already. But even so, it always took all of her will not to answer back when he said that so often without ever realising.

But sometimes, life was difficult. It was only when you realised you did not want to go to sleep because reality was far better than dreams that you gradually came to understand that very possibly you could love that person too despite wanting to believe that the little fluttering feeling those words gave was just due to lust or want. Sometimes, she even told herself that it was just because she was tired and worn down. It was just because he happened to be there. With her. Not anybody else, not even the other rebels. Just her.

But what made her not want to wake up was overpowering. Together, they had looked down the saddest city lanes, the golden dirt paths with poverty and misery pouring out from every molecule they could see. They had dropped their eyes, unwilling to explain to the injured and wailing mothers with their dying children just why it had all began. The time would never be wrong no right, to want to stop dreaming. When she saw broken people like that. When he said everything she wanted, and she could not reply for the life of her. She was unable to say it. Or maybe, it was just that she wanted to wake up too much. Because her dreams were nothing anymore, not compared to what she had.

So when Roy began to feign sleep too, she cried, if only for two reasons. She did not like him protecting her. She also knew his dreams were far greater than hers. Greater than any others. His mind was a blank canvas filled with hope and smiles, wanton thoughts and wants and wishes. Everything that dreams were.

It was making them a reality that terrified her.

* * *

I cannot see Hawkeye as an emotional person. But she is always trying to help Roy, and vice versa. I do not think she likes that, and rather prefers running the show from behind the scenes. For behind every great man, there is an even greater woman.

Preview: _Neither of them liked beds._

Reviews are loved. :)


	58. Before Falling Asleep

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **058**. **Before Falling Asleep**

Dedication: aizuhime, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would not have been very scary. ;_;

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_058. Before Falling Asleep_**

_**

* * *

**_

It was an unspoken routine.

The neat, pressed sheets would be crumpled into a messy heap and thrown around the bed until they resembled a lopsided spillage. The pillows would be caved in, the chicken feather insides of them exploding out into a mess. Only the mattress would be almost spared sometimes, cut in half and pulled to separate sides of the floor like a reminder of the better days. Most of the time, it was not however. Instead, it was shredded to pieces and used as rags to clean or act bandages in the rare events of bleeding as a toe was stubbed.

Then still in his everyday military uniform, Roy would curl into a ball and sleep on the hard maple floor, trying to tell himself that it was a sleeping bag on top of sand-covered dunes. Riza would sit with her back to him, watching the door. It was a precaution. A ridiculous one, but it was always carefully carried out anyway without complaint. If anybody were to ever find out, they had an answer prepared at all times. Behind Riza's loaded gun that she kept by her side and in the fire of his gloves. Neither of them liked beds.

Then one night, everything changed. Roy stopped dreaming and Riza stopped being a realist. They were fighting for justice, and Ishbal or no Ishbal keeping that routine was not going to make them welcome at any place that it chanced they could stay at on rougher nights when they needed a little extra comfort and felt the risk was worth it. He no longer wore his uniform as he slept, as he no longer stood for whatever the blue fabric and decorations had. Order was no longer his friend, as it existed only to keep him in line. To make sure he didn't ever expose the corruption and hurt. Riza silenced her guns, and fire no longer sprung from his fingertips. Not at night. Not when the world was sleeping and nobody could find them in the darkness.

It was only on that night that for once, the neat pressed sheets were drawn back and gently returned over two bodies that curved to meet one another as they wore childish matching pinstripe pajamas. The pillows were under both of their heads, the innards no longer spilling out and showing the disorder of such a routine. The mattress was slept on properly, kept together instead of being torn apart. Then Roy messed up the routine even more with a few simple words and a crooked heartbroken smile that almost made Riza cry.

"You know, we might not get out like last time." Riza watched him gently. His eyes were closed, shutting out all the ugly things surrounding them and she could not help but want to shake him and tell him that this was what he had wanted. They needed this. Without freedom, without life not dictated by others that made them do only wrong, there was no point in living. It was better to die than to not wake up every day and be able to smile because all was right for once in such a wrong world. But she did not. Because it might not have been a confession, but it was his way of saying everything. She understood. So she rolled over, turning her back to him before settling her sight on the door.

"But that is fine." She answered, almost silently before returning to her original position and closing her eyes. He had said it before falling asleep, the words were simple but so complex and they would keep her awake instead. He had terrible timing. But that was fine. They had no routine. They had each other. They had that night.

That was all they needed.

* * *

Roy was very scary in Chapter Ninety-four, if you have read it. It made me very worried. Hawkeye, however, did not seem exceptionally terrified by his rage. So I wonder when she has seen it before? The updates are starting to worry me, but I want to see where it goes.

Preview: _It was not anything important._

Reviews are loved. :)


	59. Gift

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **059. Gift**

Dedication: Matt-luv-Sora, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would not be having his 'time of the month.'

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_059. Gift_**

* * *

"Accept it."

Roy said it so calmly, but the fear inside of her was sickly and building up to make her feel like it could never go away. Her heart was racing; each beat just a sign that she could not hide from what was happening. Riza was never one to run, but that was all the wanted to do right then. She would never look back, she told herself. If she ran so fast she could not breathe and collapsed, even then she would not do it, she lied. But she knew she would. Because she could do nothing else but stare at him, wondering when it all happened.

"It is not mine." She replied, her lips quivering. She moved away slightly, feeling only the cold stone of the walls behind her under her hands as a signal that she could not escape. She saw his dark eyes flicker with white shock, a sudden shimmer showing his fear. It was not a choice. She could never have this opportunity again. It was then or never and that scared her. She curled her fingers up, desperately searching for a crack in the grey cement.

"I want it to be." He snapped quickly, his fiery rage surfacing a moment. She flinched at his harshness. It was never like this before. But now there was no Envy. Nothing for him to harm and direct all of his pain at. They had become them again. Eight and five years of age, with awkward gestures and childish snipes when trying to hide things they were not sure they wanted the other to know. Like the bird he had incinerated. He had not liked that. But now she guessed that was nothing, as burnt birds did not smell the same as frying flesh.

"But it cannot be." She told him, her voice coming close to breaking. She looked at his hand, curled into a tight fist. She was not sure she wanted it to open. For inside, she knew something grotesque and dead was brushing against his skin, the last remainder of a beast. She wondered if one day, he would attempt the same thing with his own heart. She had seen him turn that day with animalistic rage to something she did not like. He had been like a monster. It had frightened her, and then it had disappeared. Like he could hide it, like that pure fury and pain had been nothing at all.

"What will you do when it is my own?" Roy asked as flames began to dance in his palm, and the useless organ was changed to dust. It sifted through the gaps in his fingers and fell to the floor. There was no wind in the building to blow it away, and in some depths of her imagination Riza thought it had eyes that were staring up at her. Laughing at what she had accepted. To help a monster probably made her no better. She had tried to stop him, she reasoned with herself. Yet he had not stopped. Despite her trigger being there.

"That day will never come." Riza said, trying to sound sure of herself. But she could hear the quake in her voice. It tore through her words easily, leaving only destruction and fake smiles behind it. Roy forced his smirk, his cold look. She could see it. His grin did not meet his eyes, like his true one did. His cold look was not icy, but pained. She had hurt the ogre, and still, a tiny shred of light remained. Encapsulated in his heart, there was love.

"It already has." He told her, placing one hand over his heart as if to prove it. She bit her lip softly, wondering when exactly he had known. When exactly she had felt it too, because she felt sick and wrong to do so right then. To love somebody so good, somebody who was changing in a way she did not like at all. Or maybe it was just that she felt she could not stop it. She disliked not being able to be in control, as it made her feel useless. Her guns were already pointless against most monsters, but when things like his words were spilt out she began to think that it was not really them at all. It felt like it was her.

"No." She whispered, as he leant in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. She had had expected it to be rougher, coarse like his voice as it scraped around in the back of his throat when he forced out words. Hurtful like the love of a monster, instead of caring like him. Her hand rested where his had moments ago in a matter of seconds, and he drew away to mutter two words in her ear as though they meant nothing. He must of thought it a simple gift.

"For you."

* * *

A little situation if Envy had not completely destroyed what remained of his body. I was thinking about his heart as a gift, and it got a bit dark. Whoops.

Preview: _He believes in flying._


	60. At The Window

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **060. At The Window**

Dedication: BlackElement7. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would have a emo-radar to root things out.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_060. At The Window_**

* * *

Oh God, she cannot believe this.

There is no way it is true. He believes in flying. She does not. He dreams. She thinks about reality. He is ambitious and smiling and beautiful, and he is everything she is not. He has time to spare pieces of his heart to those who do not deserve it. People like her, without wings or magic or anything special. She could give him nothing in return. But he was at the window with her, holding her around the waist so she could reach out and touch the sky.

For a moment, Riza Hawkeye sees it the way he does. She sees the people, dots from the high up tower room she was looking down from in some obscure village a few miles away. At five years old, she had gone there with her maid to get groceries and she had lost her hat. The maid had been angry, and that had seemed to be the only important thing right then. Herself, the little silly insignificant things you could not forget. Would not. Like meeting Roy.

At first, he was just the apprentice of her useless father – a man who never appeared to have the time for her, or never wanted to make it for her – for some reason or the other. He could play with fire while she played with guns. She did not really care, to be truthful. He was tall and skinny, with dark stony features and some kindness she did not understand why he possessed. She was short and weighed a lot more than he probably did, with a rounded face and a snub nose that was tickled every now and then by blonde wispy hair she later cut. But then he had looked up to her at the window, called her Rapunzel and told her she would need to learn to live someday. It was then she cared about him. Not the first time they met.

But if there was any testimony to how wrong she could be, it was this. This reaching out into open air whilst he held her with strong arms, leaning out with no fear of falling. Because right then, he was giving her wings and teaching her to dream just as he did.

Then she was falling again, back into his chest, and the wings were gone. She blinked a moment, wondering why she did not really care about it. Why, when that feeling of being free made her so alive. Roy placed one large hand on her shoulder, a comforting small gesture on a grand scale. That one small touch meant everything. Her heart thudded.

"Join me." He said those two simple words like they meant nothing. They were not _follow me_, not a command and a spoilt one at that. They were not _come with me_, not pleasing and soft words that made her think too much and pleased her ears. They were not flattering, not lies, not anything. They just were, and so, Riza made her decision without any doubt or worry. Because she would follow him to the end of the world and back, if it meant flying again. Or even if it meant looking down from that window and feeling regret. Because anything was better than staying there, without meaning or dreams or Roy. God forbid, she had to stay there without Roy. He was the only one who gave her flight.

"You had to ask?"

* * *

I was just thinking that Riza would never leave her home when her father died, if Roy was not there to go after. Without him, she has nobody to run to, and without her, there is nobody to understand the impossible.

Preview: _It is the most bent, impossible and illogical confession he has ever seen. _


	61. Diary Journal

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **061. Diary / Journal**

Dedication: Bizzy, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would contain fifty per cent more iced gems.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_061. Diary / Journal_**

* * *

It was not her fault.

Riza wrote it first, one line on a single blank page in neat black writing that showed no emotion. But the words were enough. They were five words, thirteen letters and an_ I do not love you_, but it was something. It is the most bent, impossible and illogical confession he has ever seen. But he liked it nonetheless, because it was her and it was typical that she could lie. Plus, writing in his diary was only showing that she was always there. She left her mark on every part of his life; with biting, scratching and ink so that one sentence made no difference. She already had his soul, so why not give her everything else?

"Take an umbrella." She had said plainly, the first words she had even bothered to come out with since he read it. It was raining, and she knew he was useless in the rain. But for once, she could not go with him. Because she was leaving when they got out of the front door, and rather than him going to a place she could not reach it was she who was becoming a hostage. She guaranteed he would not step out of line. She was the boundary, the crushable item that neither side could keep for too long. She would always be taken away again soon, be it by force or by her attachment to him. Dismantle, repair. She would be back, he knew, just as well as he knew she would take one anyway if he did not. He did as she said anyway.

As she gracefully slid into the cab, he knelt down and took her wrist. He did not care who was watching, they would never know what happened. It was a long goodbye, one nobody would hope for, but no words were spoken and the clear affection creeping on to his stoic features was enough. In permanent marker he wrote _I love you_. It was not enough. In a week, his barely decipherable scrawl was washed away. Rain came, and took more from her than it ever had from him. Suddenly, it was her weakness too. Not that he knew that.

When he got her back, he wrote it over and over. On her diaries, his journals and anything that only they would see. She laughed when he clumsily left the window open, and the paper became sodden and the words were washed away again. Because you could say _do not leave me_, _I need you_, _I love you_ over and over but people still rarely meant it. Then finally, it happened.

"I love you." Roy whispered, holding her hand in some God-forsaken gutter. In a romantic world; they would have been explorers, travelers, dreamers – anything but this – but she did not care. This crooked version of life which belonged to them spoke volumes about their relationship, and she would not have it any other way. Because they were not part of a romance. They were ash and gunpowder and leftovers, remains which could always be removed with ease. Like ink. But he had finally spoken, and although his words did not hold a permanent guarantee, they were enough.

Then she kissed him, throwing away her life with reckless abandon and giving him her heart without a second thought. Because words meant more when they were spoken, and she never meant her harsh words she had started it with, and because she could not think of anything else to do because she loved him so much. Words meant little, but they were worth more. She would never find ink permanent enough, but his words she could always remember.

No ink guaranteed 'forever.'

* * *

My final exams are next Monday. Science retakes, but I got As in both and I am too far of an A* to be bothered about them. So expect an influx in writing, my chicklings. Even if it is slightly exhausted like this piece.

Preview: _"Never."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	62. A Reason To Quarrel

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **062. A Reason To Quarrel**

Dedication: AnimeFallingStar, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, that excuse for a sad movie would not have been created. Ever.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_062. A Reason To Quarrel_**

* * *

Replay.

Each night her mind winds back, stops, and she is lost. In the darkness of his cold eyes, the curve of his broken smiles, the deep almost-cracking voice. Roy. Riza is immersed in his scent, the musk of sweat and dirt and the stuff dreams are made of. The stuff of fractured fairytales, with a kiss or a smile or them. Scar and his words click over and over, telling him that he had told the Elric boy the same thing; the truth of _that man, in the end, his flames will end up consuming his soul_. But she had no warning, no word, no notice. Nothing that did not lie. Then the video crashes to a halt, and she is awake. She is lost in him with her eyes open.

"Kill me." Roy said it every night, trailing her jaw with his velveteen touch and kissing her forehead with cold lips. She came to expect it, and it never stunned her – not even the first time – when he asked. The world saw a leader, his men saw a hero and she saw a monster. But she sees the most beautiful beast there ever was. Even when he bends over backwards not to please people, and snaps things with a glance. Like twigs, hope, belief. She wants to think he can change, because a million others have reformed and he should be no different. He deserved it the most, because he had her entranced. Since forever and a day.

"Never." The word curled up in her mouth, nesting and making a home. How could she ever, even in his ugliest moments? When he roared and spread his fiery talons, and the _words I wonder how a world led by a beat in human skin would end up _crawled sluggishly through her mind. She could see things coming apart at the seams; people running, hiding from the outside, the realisation that things were not going to change setting in. But even so, the word yes crept back, and even when it almost crossed the boundary it died on her lips.

"Why? Why will you not do it? You promised me you would keep me on track, Lieutenant!" The snarl would come each day, and she would never know how to reply. There were hundreds of useless reasons, but she could never say the right one. She could tell him how he was not always going to be a beast, that even if she killed him it would make no difference or that she wanted to protect him and that would never change. No matter what, until the end – she could repeat it over and over to herself – she loved him. But these things were never said, and when she awoke in the morning with the memory of another quarrel hanging in the air she could still not bring herself to raise her gun and finish the entire situation for good. Her heart was tearing from the heavy load placed on her, but she still could not. It was wrong, she reasoned. He had saved the world. He had saved her.

Then he would tiptoe over to her seat with a hurt expression, kiss his precious doll and stroke her hair with one gloved hand. The threat of charred flesh always hung in the air, but he never threatened her – it was clear that she could not leave him without words – and that was enough. She could never believe that he would do what she could not. Even in the most dangerous beast, beauty remained. His smile told her that every day. With that smile, nothing mattered anymore. He must have known. Then she is absorbed again, in his jaw and neck and chest with her lips because she wanted him so much.

Then the repeat continued.

* * *

I am still feeling rather aggrieved over chapter ninety-four. I think it is starting to reflect in the way I write Roy, because I cannot help but think of a wolf in the clothing of a sheep. Then I feel bad, because I still love him and Hawkeye. I cannot win. So therefore, I dislike this one.

Preview: _For his Queen, a special seat._

Reviews are loved. :)


	63. Special Seat

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **063. Special Seat**

Dedication: eternal-angelic-innocence, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, the soundtrack would be very different.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_063. Special Seat_**

* * *

Once, he thought of endings.

Because they happened in books. Everything suddenly came to a close, the words no longer continued in their almost liquid flow, and the story ended. The characters no longer continued in their routines, some no longer continued in their lives, and for others it was simply said that they had disappeared or something of the sort. Outside the book, their lives did not actually continue – although he had yet to realise this – although they lived on in memory. He took each last page for an ending, the final word there was on the topic. That ending was it. After that, there was nothing more. The characters lived happily ever after.

Then it happened. The country he was fighting for crumbled with relative ease. Without a guard who could match up to the skill of those in support of him, without a monster in human clothing leading them, how was it possible for it to stand strongly before him and demand that it be led by other means? Who would oppose him anyway? The man who had seen beyond the deception and face value, with nothing more than his humanity. People wanted him to lead them; they had seen that he was able to do it well. Seen that he was true. He took one look at the seat before turning his back on it, and looking to Hawkeye.

"I cannot take this." For his Queen, a special seat. The shock in her eyes confused him. She should have been pleased with such a thing. He did not long to be a leader any longer. He was only human, and nearly all humans could be corrupted with relative ease. But she stood by her convictions, judged people based on what was underneath and she had been the one to steady him when he was wrong. If he were in power, he knew he could prevent her from doing that and he did not wish for it. That seat no longer meant anything to him.

"That seat was made for you alone." She tells him, without any hesitation. The gold and ebony, chalk against his pale skin. To her, it would match perfectly. Not only would she be a righteous leader, she would be a beautiful one. It was easy to fall in love with such a woman, and he knew that the nation would do it without even noticing from the word go.

"It was made for a Queen." He whispered before grabbing her hand, and spinning her into it. She collapsed into the plush material with a thud, her body quickly stiffening to soften the blow and in the very second she closed her eyes he leaned forward to connect his lips with hers. He could feel the fear she held in that moment, taste everything he could have if only he did what she wanted. It was easy to fall in love with her, the nation would – just as he had – over and over, and it would never be anything but unstoppable.

"What is this?" She asked, pushing him away with desperation creeping into her voice. He placed a hand on her head softly, feeling the neatly combed hair sprawl into a mess beneath his touch. How could he put such a feeling into words? To ask it of him was impossible. To ask him to abandon his new mission was ridiculous. Even if it meant putting someone like her in charge. They never said to be loved that you needed to love back, and for a woman with no heart to speak of the job was almost too easy.

"I'll return with your heart." He said, immediately exiting. He collapsed into the floor after the wooden door slammed shut, feeling splinters cut into his fingers from the force he had just hit it with. For his dream, she had given her humanity. She had become what they had defeated. Hawkeye was a homunculus, and he had not been able to prevent it. But he would end such a damned existence in a less painful way. There had to be a way to do it, and he had known that. Equivalent exchange dictated it. She was some form of Lust-Riza, and to stop that someone else had to take her place. He would find a way. Even if it meant that special seat became corrupt once more. Even if it meant completely destroying it. He trusted her not to, even like that. She still seemed human. In her touch, her eyes, everything about her.

It was then he knew there were no endings.

* * *

I've been mulling over this idea for a while now. I was thinking about the idea of the seat being next to glass and turned from it for a while, and I was like 'That vantage point for a sniper is too easy, she could kill him if he ever got out of hand.' But then Olivier pointed out the sniping advantage in the latest chapter, and that sort of killed it for me. So never mind.

Preview: _Then, he sees her._

Reviews are loved. :)


	64. The Scenery From A Car Seat

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **064. The Scenery From A Car Seat**

Dedication: ht4eva, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, the new anime would not disappoint so much.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_064. The Scenery From A Car Seat_**

* * *

This was not stagecraft.

Men went to war and children stayed in and played with toy soldiers, manipulating everything from behind the scenes with a few tugs on some loose strings. They needed to be careful not to sever them. Pockets full of empty dead land, fling a few grenades around and hope for the ugly best way out of it and that was not peace apparently. This was selling the other race masks of tears born from the paranoia of the one slaughtering them, laughing in their dead faces when they thought they were all gone and expecting the people who done it to just paste a smile on using paint to redecorate themselves afterwards so it could not be wiped away without a stinging pain like turpentine.

"Your only enemy is the man at home, behind the wooden desk." Maes muttered as quietly as he could managed, and though his words were nearly impossible to hear over the roaring sounds of the abattoir of mankind and what humanity had created, Roy had etched those words into his mind as soon as he said them because he supposed it was true. Bureaucrats and politicians were the same thing, winding the poppies around their heads as crowns as they sung a song of victory that was not yet written about their patch of earth that supposedly meant enough to kill.

"Enforcing conformity." Roy mumbled back, staring emptily out unto the great expanse of space. It seemed strange that there was enough of everything for all humans, and yet greed and their nature meant they had selfishly reached out for a handful of blood because they always wanted more than what was necessary to survive. For that amount of land was not empty, but rather diced up by shrapnel and smashed helmet pieces, held together by spilt crimson liquid from paralysing gunshot wounds. It was not built on a strong foundation. From the corner of his eye, however, something stood out. Then, he sees her.

The car came to a grinding halt, the wheels torn to pieces by debris from probably only a few days before. The woman looked around sharply, her deep red eyes focusing on the vehicle without much sign of letting up. His own onyx eyes found themselves fixated on her as she let her fingers slide down to touch the hilt of the gun she was carrying. Her grasp was delicate, even barely-there, but it she seemed strangely sure of herself.

"Hawkeye seems cheerful this morning." Maes said, patting him on the shoulder. Roy had not even noticed that he was on edge, his back muscles snapping up to hold him in a painfully eloquent position under her steady gaze. He did not even need to say more than that. The other man knew of those days. Back in halcyon childhoods streaked with cheer, eggs she prepared in the morning and when simple smiles actually meant something to him. When she made his pulse race just that little bit faster, made him flush and think about her as soon as she saw him in the morning. It hit him at thirteen, and right then he was wondering if fate really did exist seeing her in front of him. It was like waking up and tasting insomnia all over again, then waiting for it to evaporate, bitter as her on his tongue.

No, if this were stagecraft she would run to him and engulf him in the scent of vanilla and gunpowder and dried blood, and there would be some hope for her innocence. He thought right then that seeing her kill would be the thing to break him, and from the very start he could have been right if she had not smiled at him. The driver later commented that was the first time he had ever seen emotion from her when she was patrolling. Not even Maes knew why. To each other, they were the last remnant of forgotten things like hope. The war might not have been stagecraft, but right then he found himself caring less. Because she was there.

No amount of fiction could change that.

* * *

I suppose this is sort of light, but I think them being in a car together is overdone. Hence, poor readers, you ended up with this. Something akin to Roy and Riza, but only just bordering it. At least it is better than the other load of things I have been coming out with after chapter ninety four, I suppose in some ways.

Preview: _What little wisdom Roy possesses goes into tearing her walls down before she even realises what is happening. _

Reviews are loved. :)


	65. The You Refleced In The Glass

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **065. The You Reflected In The Glass**

Dedication: kausingkayn, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would be the little matchstick girl.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_065. The You Reflected In The Glass_**

* * *

It takes her years to build herself up.

What little wisdom Roy possesses goes into tearing down her walls before she even realises what is happening. She had concrete foundations, of that she was sure. Except he had helped her make it, and his mixture had not been the same as her bitterness. Whatever went into creating with her was not what she wished for, but rather dust from his heavy heart that he had half bothered to throw her way.

Now, she is pulling the stability from underneath him and hoping for everything to crumble around her. She is carving into the breakable earth, laughing in the face of her dead father. He wanted her to be inhuman. He wanted her not to feel, not to cry when he scorched her skin, to stay away from his student other than to give him the research that was always more important. Sometimes, she wonders how long it will be until he falls too.

"Riza, I know who you really are." He tells her once, staring in the mirror as he stands behind her. His hand is resting on her shoulder, and in a different time she could have shrugged it off. But that companionship almost felt safe. He knows then that she builds things up just so she can tear them down, and that she likes to watch herself pull things apart. A long time ago, her father would pull the cracking wings off butterflies and tell her that he never used to be malicious. But in this life, he would whisper; there is no room for remorse.

"You think a looking-glass tells you that?" Her whole heart screams from under her sharply painted ribs, where it is untouchable and unable to break. It wants to be kind, and in one world where there is a Hawkeye who shows emotion to anyone but Roy, it is screeching for someone to teach her how to or love or anything. She does not want to be the one who enjoys watching people cave in, even if she does enjoy being the strong one.

"No. I think the you reflected in the glass tells me there is no saving us from falling." Roy whispers, and her heart thumps so hard against her chest she finds herself wishing she knew how to breathe the same way he did. In a way that when she inhaled, tears did not want to cascade from her eyes and when she exhaled she would be breathing out the litter of her memories that would break down into nothing but dirt to birth fruit over time. Whilst he stood making it look so simple, it made her want to be the one who broke instead.

"You are only the best I have ever had." She tells him, reaching for the eyelash curler and it is then she thinks that he almost believes her. But she has an uneven heartbeat, and in a replay of this moment she supposes she will hear her own heart break in the silence that follows for a few minutes after her lie.

"When you mean that, I will tell you then." He buries his face in her hair, because he has known since the age of ten that it makes her feel a little less alone. He knew at twelve that she wore her musty perfume her mother left her after she died, because once upon a time it was not blackened flesh that smelt like home. At fifteen he left her with eyes so cold they could stop a heart, and any day after when they meet he knows they will. It is only now, at the respective ages of twenty eight and thirty something that when he leaves she cries.

In all those years, she had never felt so in love.

* * *

Because Hawkeye is very unemotional, apart from when Roy does something and because for all the millions of people in the world the only one each will ever want will be each other. I just know it. Do you not know that, too?

Preview: _He knows that hearts speak. Their voices are just muffled, a lot of the time._

Reviews are loved. :)


	66. The Pounding Of A Heart

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **066.** **The Pounding Of A Heart**

Dedication: Colorless Wind, thank you.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, you just lost the game. Hate me yet?

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_066. The Pounding Of A Heart_**

* * *

The sky is this shade of grey.

Roy had been smoking cigarettes for the better part of his twenty four hours, and the voices around him have been slurred and distant because they have both been tucking their words behind their teeth to reserve only the best for each other. Riza has a stiff smile because she has been wearing it dully her entire life, and he cannot hold it up anymore with what little he can offer her.

Her arm is this shade of purple.

She is the sort of woman who turns on the radio at night and would sing along if she has a half-decent voice. Instead she hums ever so quietly, only just under her breath so he can barely hear it, and thinks the world is better when it is not fully written out in lines for people to glance in order to change what they are. He swears the only time he has seen Scar look so calm was when he twisted her arm and pulled her away from him, the edge of his tongue pushing past the barriers they had created to spill out monster.

His skin is this shade of white.

He has icy coloured skin, and something about the way he raises his hands that are strong enough to make any woman wonder makes her want to be just like him and taste such beauty. Sometimes, she used to look at him for too long, and in return for not noticing he made her feel. She can feel the heat in his heart when he presses her against his broad chest, and when she feels it beating behind the ribcage bars she has to wonder if his blood is blue and cold to match.

Her heart is this shade of red. She supposes.

She is just counting the seconds between his breaths every time he makes her want to kiss him. Because he knows her heart better than her. He has always been just a lot more sharp than her, even if she likes to think she is a tiny bit quicker sometimes. See, she was always certain he was that he would be the one to tell her everything. Because Roy is always right. He knows that hearts speak. Their voices are just muffled, a lot of the time. Then sometimes after she is pressed against him he slips against her chest instead and listens, waiting for something although she does not know what. He laughs when she asks, saying he is waiting to hear her secrets. More than once, she is foolish enough to believe him.

But then sometimes can be all the time, and when he held her just like he used to between sand and sweaty palms her skin electrified her being. Then they are not just grey or purple or white or red or painted in shades of each other. All the time they are listening to the pounding of a heart in each other, and telling each other what is in between each unsteady sound and quiet smile.

"You love me."

He whispered once, telling her word for word what he told her was what her heart said. Her smile curved into a crescent, and she was running out of words to feed down his starving throat unless she untucked the lies from their bed just after they had curled into a ball upon her tongue and laid themselves to rest. Sometimes, she did not reply. Maybe just sometimes.

Most of the time, she wants it to be his shade of black.

* * *

In which Roy gains an extra heart. Because love is not always so easy to explain, and requited emotion is getting rare lately. Something should be done about that, one day. Maybe now.

Preview:_ Her quirk is being made without love. _

Reviews are loved. :)


	67. Quirks

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **067. Quirks**

Dedication: Ruingaraf, thank you.

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, I would make Alphonse eat cats. Really.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_067. Quirks_**

* * *

He smiles, and the world falls in love.

Sometimes, she likes to think that it is actually because of his shocking black shadow eyes and his smell of must and whatever it is that makes him haunt her reverie. Then other times, she wants to tell herself to be still, be silent – because she has never known when to keep quite – because he cannot want a woman with chapped lips and even more fractured state of thought. He is a man who has many quirks, and each and every one of them makes him just that little more beautiful. She has never known whether to hate him for that instead or not. But she supposes that never really mattered. He would be the same even without every little thing she knew about him ingrained into her skin like something ugly.

Her quirk is being made without love. She has learnt to whitewash her thoughts and bleach her lips until she cannot remember just what it was she was about to say anymore. She tries to reason her words are only so silent because he lacerates them before putting them back together again to find himself, but it is actually more probable that she is like a cracked mirror. Her cuts are shallow, and he has not shattered her yet but one day he will. The stars in her eyes may have faded for now, but she wants to see them again at that moment.

"You are choking me." She whispers, when he kisses her. His eyes are too bright, too encrusted in everything far beyond because he has always had the cosmos at his fingertips to tear down. But instead, he is choosing to tear down her and she is not sure how to handle it.

"How long until you are asphyxiated?" He hushed her. She could wear him around her, let him weigh her down and watch her choke. She could watch him slip into obliteration. She could watch his flames devour whatever was left of him. Or right then, she could stop. Take her loaded gun and storm this country for him, although she never had any sympathy for martyrs. She had a feeling that if he was ever something religious, she would have worshipped him.

"A moment without you." She whispered, setting off the gun. The roar of the bullet as it tore through the flesh in his knee was almost deafening. But it was for the best, she told herself. Someone as bright as him was like kerosene. She was the match, and even if she burned her would always be better. It was better to injure him than to be without something to wish on. But all that rested in his eyes was betrayal. He looked at her as pain tore through his body, collapsed on the floor with an almost hallucinogenic snarling mouth.

For all his quirks, she cannot let him fall.

* * *

I can imagine Riza doing something like this. Injuring him in order to save him.

Preview: _Then there is bone-shattering silence, and he figures out how it feels to be alone._

Reviews are loved. :)


	68. Song

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **068. Song**

Dedication: Ewa Snow, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it would have two hundred more glowsticks.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**_068. Song_**

* * *

Not until the cicadas stop singing.

This is what Hawkeye – _Riza, Riza strong and tired and beautiful Riza, he corrects himself_ – tells him when he asks when she will leave him. He would not have minded the shivering in the rain if it meant she was there. He would not have minded her confident pull on his jacket as long as it meant she was taking him somewhere with her. He would not have minded her quivering lips when she said this; if it were not for the season they were in. It was winter, and cicadas never lasted more than a day anyway. The cold did not help the situation.

It is only when they are standing at the edge of a bridge, her somewhere watching and waiting for opportunity, that he questions this. It is cold, and the peeling paint of the wooden crossing is red and stark in comparison with the blankness surrounding him and all he can hear is crunching but not from the powder beneath his feet. In autumn nobody swept the tiny crippled bodies away of the bright green bugs, and the whiteness is shallow. Even something delicate cannot bleach the death of the tiniest creature, and he briefly wonders if it will be the same with him when he dies. But he soon reprimands himself. She would never let him die; let alone let his body lay motionless and abused; a crumpled heap amongst other broken boys with the same black staring eyes she told him he had.

Then there is the buzzing song sounding out. Some cicadas, he knows, bury themselves underground and only emerge for a day. Long enough for him to marvel at their delicate shades like their golden sheen under the sun and their transparent wings that were so easy to tear off, and then just like their prettiness meant nothing they would die. He looks to where he hears it, and the sound stops as a pale hand darts out and smears the blood of the creature across the muddy ground. He looks at her, her lips are pulled tight and the gun slung over her shoulder is cold steel under his gaze. Then there is bone-shattering silence, and he figures out how it feels to be alone.

"These things emerge only to die." She whispers, and edges away slightly. She is only a child at war; and he hopes that one day he will forget everything. He wants to forget the memory of every time she forgot status and used his name, he wants to lose her phone number and maybe somewhere along the lines the way that when she was eight he gave her a reason to be. He smiles faintly, wondering if she will remember his last words. Wondering how long it will take for her to forget just like he just guesses he wants to one day.

When he sees her again it is the next autumn, and the cicadas are emerging and the war is over. When he sees her wide eyes as she walks into the box of an office where they locked away their prize jewel; she says nothing. But he wants her to understand that he is only human; and she scares him breathless. He wants her to feel how his heartbeat is feverish and rapping against his ribcage on the inside because he is worried. He wants her to believe him.

"You know, one day; cicadas will evolve. So they will never stop singing, and they can love for more than just a day." He tells her. It is not a hello, or a goodbye; but in some languages he hears they use the same word for both of these and so it does not really matter anyway. This is the moment he expects her to turn away, and he smiles at this because maybe this way the silly little girl he fell in love with will keep breathing.

"Nothing lasts forever." She replies almost definitely, her characteristic sharpness slipping into her words. He does not tell her that he feels claustrophobic when she talks like that, or that he wants to find her fingers again one day, or that she is the most innocently wonderful person he has ever met and it makes her irresistible. Or maybe, he thinks, that she is too much of a realist; and he wants to tell her that you need dreams to take flight to begin with. He answers without much conviction with silence and a few words in mind but he hopes she understands.

But some things, he does not say, are always unforgettable.

* * *

This is very subtle and I suppose it might be confusing for some. But for some reason, I actually do not dislike it. It just works to me.

Preview: _She always knew just the right way to make him smile._

Reviews are loved. :)


	69. Are You Satisfied?

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **069. Are You Satisfied?**

Dedication: Aosugiru Sora, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, every sentence said would end with 'in accordance with the prophecy.'

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**069. Are You Satisfied?**_

* * *

He asks her once.

"Is the glass half-empty or half-full?" The light of the lamp is fading. He is watching the stopped pocketwatch jammed on eleven fifty nine she holds in her hand, having tirelessly tried to fix it for the better part of an hour. She does not answer.

When he asks her again, it is winter. She is too busy waiting for spring to come quicker and he likes the taste of the cold air. There are no words, just a crumpled up envelope from a card scribbled on with words that evaded them. She fumbles with the paper, writes out the alphabet, because the letters could never be right enough to make him happy. She likes to hide her words. He might not appreciate the crumpled up card he began with in return for the _are you satisfied with living the half-empty life _question she never wanted him to ask, but she thinks that not answering him is far better.

The next time it is spring. She is bored of it already and wants to get out of the season again and he likes the way she reacts when he leaves a daisy chain on her desk. He asks on a pink lined paper _does happiness evade you _and she gave him no smile. Sometimes she forgets to come back to herself, he knows, because he has seen the way she stops the corners of her lips from turning up. She always knew just the right way to make him smile. But not that day. She has already given him all she has, and right then she can give no more.

"Your glass is half-empty, Hawkeye." He has stopped questioning in the summer. She leaves a piece of paper on his desk that night, saying _do not just do not _because she does not want to crack open her mouth to tell him to stop treating her like he knows her secrets. There are some things even those you love should not know, not even if it means strings come attached and because joy on their face would never look so sweet otherwise.

"Tell me who you are." He tries to command her in the autumn. But even if he is above her, he can never know. He stumbles backwards, flings his arms out into the open air. What he is really asking is _when did we become strangers _as he looks down from the roof. His raven hair is being pulled by the wind and his chapped lips are downturned. He could be just another stain on the pavement like the last blood of crunched leaves. She almost answers.

"After all, one always loves the one that destroys them." She whispers the next winter, when he tells her _the glass is only half-full because you don't know love_ like he understands. She refuses to be sorry for how harsh the world can be, and she will not apologise for the way she wants him to write happy endings instead of questions she cannot answer for fear of breaking him. The pocketwatch jammed on eleven fifty nine was testimony enough to an ending not being what they needed; after all, at twelve so many books said that people were not alone.

"Is the glass half-empty or half-full?" She is watching the stopped pocketwatch now jammed on twelve he holds in his hand, having given up fixing it after the worse part of an hour. Leaning forward, she kisses him.

She does not answer _half-full_,_ as long as I have you_, but this time he understands.

* * *

Sorry for the lack of updates, I have been very ill and unable to do much. Then I went back to sixth form this week, so I figured I am well enough to do something like this. Overly subtle on a large part, maybe, but some feelings just cannot be expressed like this, eg. get lost Christmas, I do not want you this year; without being depressing.

Preview: _"Hawkeye, I think you have given me a disease."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	70. Giddiness

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **070. Giddiness**

Dedication: Chibijac, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Scar would not just have been horribly stabbed.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**070. Giddiness **_

* * *

His hands are shaking cold.

"Hawkeye, I think you have given me a disease." He is giddy and feels as though he could collapse. His unbeatable knowledge tells him there is no such thing as love; that one can only pretend it exists because it is caused by chemicals and therefore he reasons it cannot hurt him. He has always been so very clever. So very clever. More clever than her, although she has always had the edge for some reason or other. He thinks this moment right now is probably why.

"I have not been sick, you caught whatever illness you have by your own means." She answers with impeccable formality, the kind he has remembered hearing from her since a long time ago. She used to call him by his name, he thinks vaguely, but that time was a century away. Back then all she ever said was that they would sort a problem the next day. But now she is so very in order. He thinks she changed because of him, but he will not tell her.

"Is this what you have felt like all this time?" He asks her, his vision blurry in the freezing winter air. She wants to shake her head, say the snow has made him ill; but he knows she is not as assumptive as this and she does not care to repeat things more than once. She has become a lover of order and neatness, a perfectionist who wanted to make everything the way she felt it should be. He felt she should lead her own life, be safe, but he knew better than to say this. She would never listen even if he did.

"Pardon?" She mutters, raising a single pale hand as if to check his temperature like she had forgotten who they were, and then thinking far better than to do such a thing. Her blood coloured eyes fixed on his face for a single moment as a look of confusion passed across her features. He grabbed her hand midair and pulled it to his thumping chest.

"My heartbeat is through the roof." He tells her, as if it makes any change. These are the days when her sensibility is in fashion, and she pulls away her hand sharply, clicking it back. He can hear how painful it must be, but she does not betray this with as much as a single hitched breath. She trembled slightly, and stood up straight.

"You were right. You are ill." She frowns slightly, as if the statement is not going to make them both feel like this is a fact that they need to write down because he will not remember it otherwise. As if this is a way to weed out medication, the practiced solutions telling him this is love and finding a way to make this worthwhile.

Her fingers curl around his, and for now he fakes a cough.

* * *

Doing art, history, English literature and government & politics at sixth form will eat you alive; ill or not. If you are clever, do not choose all the subjects with the most work like I did. Then that way, you will probably have far more time to be the non-enforced kind of creative.

Preview: _A premonition is the sort of magic only he can feel._

Reviews are loved. :)


	71. Premonition

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **071. Premonition**

Dedication: Green Cloud, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, the women would have much more power.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**071. Premonition**_

* * *

Roy does not accept reality.

He was an eight year old with not enough sense to keep his feet on the ground, a fifteen year old with not enough time for wishes when the clock hit eleven minutes past eleven, and at thirty two he was a man who would sink into his fantasies only when he felt he had time. The youth Riza had thought would hold him together was probably the thing that let him down. But in the end, magic is just magic – _and it cannot hold you together no matter how hard you try_ – and magic is not always for the best.

But still, there is one fact they cannot escape. A premonition is the sort of magic only he can feel. All Roy has ever wanted is to be believed in, and she believes in him more than anyone. If he tells her words mean more than weapons, she will take up a pen; and if he tells her to run she will not because she knows she cannot leave him. One day, she tells him he will end up in the dark if he tries to do everything by himself; and back then she does not know how utterly correct she is. Not that she would want to be anymore.

"Riza, I think we are going to fall into infinity." He does not say it is a dream, because she knows that it is rare for him to do so unless he is shaking in his sleep and he has not done this for months. She nods. There is a space in the back of his mind where he thinks of nothing and everything all at once. This is the way it has always been; whatever he says comes true.

"We are only millimeters away." She tells him, letting the tips of her fingers touch his. She knows this is probably not what he means or the answer which he wishes to hear, but she does not want to say the words on the tip of her tongue – _I know it will not be ok this time_ – because hiding them behind her teeth and wishing it away is easier. Even if she never wanted to believe in him or magic, she always has, and so she convinces herself just this one wish is ok if she keeps it to herself.

The next afternoon comes too soon, and she has never been one to say anything at the last minute – _but she believed they had more time than this and in reality neither of them had another day_ – but now she knows she has to. The building is being absorbed in white light as she runs towards him, bleeding and in pain but knowing that it is ok because neither of them will probably survive this anyway. As the world melts down around them, their lips touch and she whispers reality. But still he does not live in reality, and he grins wildly as he raises his hand in a burst of flame in front of them like he can hold back anything because he never knew when to just give in and face reality. But even so, she believes what she hears.

"We're going to survive."

* * *

Just do not ask, I believe I am going slightly insane. But a thousand reviews? Thank you everyone for all your support. I feel absolutely over-loved, and as a result am posting two chapters at once as a sign of gratitude.

Preview: _"There is sand between your toes."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	72. Drawing A Boundary Line

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **072. Drawing A Boundary Line**

Dedication: e1nav17, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, the theme song would be a rendition of 'Hey Ya' by Outkast.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**072. Drawing A Boundary Line**_

* * *

"There is sand between your toes."

Lately, the winter of the war had passed too quickly and melted into summer. Things had not changed much. Although he could not see the sky at the crack of dawn, or the murky blue of the sea or the sand on his cheek where he had been laying on his side; she knew he could still feel revolution in his blood and wanted to wave his arms in the air and scream for the great escape. He is not so young that he is foolish, and neither is he so old that he thinks himself wise, and so although he had salt water up to his ankles and they might starve before they actually manage to get anywhere she believes that things will work out alright.

"I love that you noticed." He answers, smirking a little. In response, somewhat out of offence at him mocking her and a little bit out of spite, she moves away from him. He stiffens. She knows he finds it hard to find his way without her, but for now it will have to do. When she sees a stick some way down the beach she goes after it, and digging it into the sand, draws a line between them quite physically and sits apart from him.

"Boundaries, Mustang." She reminds him. Her persistence in using his second name does not faze him, although he always supposes he will find it a little odd until things simply end for the both of them. She never tells him that a homunculus once called her Riza, and it took his form; but she tells Ed, and if it is any indication of loyalty the boy tells him. That night he had taken goose feathers and tied one into the ends of her hair for luck, because he cannot remember what a rabbit foot must feel like, and he does not know where to find a horseshoe that will not hold her down.

"What about them?" He asks. She has drawn a physical boundary line, but he cannot see it anyway. It makes no difference. Instead he moves around to face where he can hear her voice and stands up to walk towards her. He can smell sea salt, the typical briny beach dampness, and gunpowder.

Then he kisses her. He always supposed she would be flushed and yelling, arms raised to hit him as hard as possible – _but time is running out more than ever nowadays_ – and he does not suppose it matters any longer. There is not time for boundaries, or holidays at beaches when they are living day to day whilst on the run, or excuses why he has not told her he loves her, not anymore. It takes her five seconds for her to draw the boundary line manifested over a lifetime with him, and it takes him almost as long to overstep it.

But all that matters is that for this moment, he has her.

* * *

I am getting rather sentimental, am I not? I do not pin them down as a couple for being overly emotional, and constantly needing attachment; but the little moments are what makes them what they come across as to me, I suppose. Also, I am sorry I am updating much less frequently, sixth form / social life combined is killer on art time.

Preview: _"Stay close to me."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	73. Parting

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **073. Parting**

Dedication: AngelWings228, thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Roy would not be insert spoiler here.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**073. Parting**_

* * *

"Come back."

Riza knows her words are not soap and water – _they will not wash away the burning fear and the thoughts of needing him or make this insignificant again _– and things are not as simple as she always wanted them to be. If time is an hourglass then she is wondering when the sand began to tip down her throat instead and make her throat this sore. Even if her words are weak and this is failing along with every other relationship she has ever had in any sense whatsoever, she does not want it to end. It just cannot.

"You know that it would be wrong." Roy answers. His lips are shaking, but she does not know if it is from the cold or something resembling heartbreak. Because he was always too clever for the real thing, too clever for her and she does not want him to protect her if it means she does not see him anymore. He had been gone for a whole year before. Nearly four hundred days and millions of seconds and she does not want it to come down to him going again for her sake. She tries to reach out, but quickly drops her hand to her side. He is the fire, she is the ice. If she touches him, she will burn because it will mean he will not want to save her anymore; and even if she is strong this is the way that it has always been. Change would be terrifying.

"Stay close to me." She says instead, almost like she is trying to find a compromise. She has read stories about people stranded on beaches waiting for their lost loves, and every romance she has ever hidden under her bed with a plot like that is something she can so believe in that every time she puts the book down she can remember what the sand felt like under the fingernails of the character she liked best and how him not coming to get her was probably what she wanted to kill her, but really it was dehydration. Because Riza has always thought logically, even if she always wanted to see the beautiful side of things like he did.

"But then you will die." He tells her flatly. What is best, she almost questions; to stay with somebody you love and watch them sicken and die, or to leave them and see through a telescope how they have lived like you could never let them? She knows that if things were different, she would want him to live. But she would not have the strength. She does not want him to have it, either.

"The same will happen if you leave." She tells him, wanting it to be a threat but they both know it is not. She might be courageous for him, but she is not courageous enough for herself and she would never leave him behind unless he forced her hand. He places a hand on her heart, and knows what he says will be true even if it is not for him. A thousand miles away he may still love her, and he hopes she will move on; but he knows deep down she will not. She will be there waiting into infinity for him to return, no matter what.

"But your heart will still beat."

* * *

I do not like this one. Hmm.

Preview: _Their fingers miss by millimetres._

Reviews are loved. :)


	74. A Great Distance

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **074. Great Distance**

Dedication: My one thousandth review giver, My. Onlyfriend. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, then the whole entire series would be unbearably emotional to the point of making fifteen year old boys in red skinny jeans cry more than usual.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**074. Great Distance**_

* * *

Their fingers miss by millimetres.

Riza has never once said how she wanted to fall away with him, like every romance novel Roy has ever attempted to read dictates she should; but he feels that even if she had she would not have meant it like this. The ground is crumbling and she is screaming and he knows he is not making a noise from something akin to shock and this is not alright. This is not ok, or perfect, or anything like a beautiful moment which a novel would dictate it should be.

"Why will you not let me touch you?" He finally manages to shout as she curls her fingers away as they fall at a thousand meters per second, plunging through the air like falling airships and hoping that someone will find beauty in their destruction. She barely smiles at him, thin lipped, and he tries to imagine that these are just words because nobody has ever been smashed to the ground by a mixture of the alphabet and ink and a voice.

"Because then I will have to admit I exist." She answers, her voice draining away like water going down sink pipes until he can barely hear it. People like to use literature to hide things, like why they want to curl their face into their knees and hide and run and not tell somebody they love them. Riza probably does not want to cover up any of these things, but he knows that she does not want to exist in this moment because she is so damn scared and holding his hand will not change a thing about this.

"If we do not cling to each other, when we hit the water we might freeze alone." He shouts the quick garble over the roar of his bursting eardrums and hopes she hears. All women who are secretly little girls need something to cling to, something – _a bow to fit the string or a memory flashing black and white in the back of their memories or a sentence they can barely recall_ – and even if it ends up not being him at least she has that. That is what he has always told himself. But she catches his fingers just as they hit the water, like she has never thought of doing anything differently.

Even as the impact hits him, he does not let go.

* * *

Roy would use cold logic to win her heart in some ways, but at the same time I do not think he could help but be warm and loving. He forgets how not to be sometimes.

Preview: _"Stop pretending that love does not exist."_

Reviews are loved. :)


	75. Why?

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **075. Why?**

Dedication: .Poisoned Scarlet. Thank you!

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, I would use it as advertising space and rake in money.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**075. Why?**_

* * *

Roy naively always thinks that she tells him everything.

"Stop pretending that love does not exist." He tells Riza one morning; after she has drunk and cried and stolen his heart. He likes the way she always smiles when he buys her something even if it is something she does not like, the way she wrinkled her nose every time before last night when she tried to drink alcohol, and the way that she just accepts that some lose big and some lose small and things do not always go right like she wants them to. But he does not like that she acts so smart, so clever; like love cannot hurt her if she does not believe in it.

"Why?" She asks, sounding as though she does not care either way, not that he can blame her for this. He has never been afraid of dying or anything but himself, and this is why: he does not know when to start. He always does what he pleases at the most inopportune moment, because he does not have the answers to everything even if everyone expects him to. But another part of him knows that she is aware of all the smallest things; from his rushed heartbeat to his shaking limbs to the way he cannot take his eyes away from her. Not that she would ever admit it, until now she has always found it easier to pretend. It makes her less terrified of him, he supposes.

"Because then you will not believe me if I tell you that I love you." Roy says, like it is the simplest thing ever. She has no taste for poetry or music even if she likes novels, because deep down that she has always believed that things that heartbreaking are only meant for beautiful people. He has known this all his life. He tries to find it a coincidence that those things are always about love as well, because their love is not beautiful. It is silent. It is quiet. It is cheap. It is only available in the smallest moments which they regret for weeks after, just like this, and each and every time he feels sick of himself afterwards.

"I would disappoint you anyway." She blankly replies, before rolling over, ignoring the chasm she has just created between them. Maybe she thinks that if she sticks her actions together he will not notice them falling apart. But he can hear the lightest tremor in her voice and see her back through the linen sheet, a tiny earthquake for his eyes only. He may be naïve when it comes to her, and she does not tell him everything, but he knows one thing.

It is only because she is afraid of losing him.

* * *

Not that he would leave her anyway, his love is an unconditional sort. Three updates on the trot as well, sorry I have had them stored up so long, my exams are coming up.

Preview: _The way the bullet hits his offender is not beautiful or poetic or righteous, but it was never supposed to be._

Reviews are loved. :)


	76. Watching Over You

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **076. Watching Over You**

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, the end wouldn't have gone down like that.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**076. Watching Over You**_

* * *

"Riza, do not do this."

The way the bullet hits his offender is not beautiful or poetic or righteous, but it was never supposed to be. Propaganda had always made war sounds beautiful and poetic, flawless as long as you won. But it was not. It was vile, it was cheap. Beauty means nothing in the real world. Even now, with her.

"He was going to kill you." Simplicity in duplicity. Things had always been black and white with Riza. She chooses not to see the shades of grey, what is wrong is wrong and what is right is right as long as you ignore what is in between. She calls it ignorance, he calls it bliss. Roy looks at the man slumped at his feet.

"He was still alive." Roy almost whispers, his voice strained. She bows her head, although he knows she does not understand. The way she feels small in his arms, it is hot like an infection against her dry bones. She would promise him to be a perfect human, if only there were not too many ways for a human to die. But this is not what he needs.

"Would you rather be dead?" She asks. He raises a heavy hand to her sharply upright shoulders but she shrugs it away. Sadness has no place in war, and she has all the sadness in the world. Maybe it is because the the world is an infinitely miserable place to live. Or maybe it is because she has trained herself to turn a blind eye. From suffering springs greatness. She was born of it and she believes that it meant nothing.

"You could have paralysed him instead." She purses her lips. She was twenty when she first killed a man, using any means necessary for survival in her household came long before that. What came even earlier was learning that nobody in the world is trustworthy. She has learnt that when she opens her heart, she becomes vulnerable; and when she becomes vulnerable death stands before her. Lessons she will never forget, if she wants to survive. It is amazing that Roy has gone this long without killing like she has.

"Then he would shoot you from the ground. You're an alchemist." She answers blankly. Her only regret is when she lets the cracks show. By now, she honestly believes there is not a single person in the world that is kind to another without any sort of ulterior motive. Now, if Roy wants to survive he must realise he is the epitome of what the Ishvalians hate. To them, magic is wrong; and slaughtering their people with it does not make the integrated beliefs of a few centuries change at all. Now, it is kill or be killed.

"Then do not watch my back. This only makes this war worse." He tells her, and she scoffs. She has no choice. Her orders are to make sure he is not killed. If he dies, she will be court marshaled and shot. Not even her Grandfather could prevent that if it was a direct order from his superiors if he has any concern for his life. Animosity is everyday. Alchemists are just something to direct it at. Maybe if the world was different, she would be like her enemy; but for now she has to ignore her prejudices and hatred. Maybe this is why her aim was off today, rather than the sharp glances Roy gives her whenever she takes a life.

"I want you to survive." She says genuinely. Perhaps even though he is the worst of alchemists, even though she is being ordered to do this rather than taking the choice; Roy is not a bad person. He is naïve and foolish, but for now she almost wants this attitude to last. When he is sent out into the desert a week later, she does not give him kind words or anything to tell him that things will work out. She does not want to insult his intelligence. Tired and weary as he returns, blood soaked and cold, instead she lets him bury his head into the crook of her neck as she swears she will never leave his side. He does not have the capacity to kill much longer, and so she will take the mantle.

"I wanted everyone to live peacefully."

* * *

I feel like Roy needs a little bit of the spotlight. Especially after the final chapter, which slightly disappointed me. Sorry I have not updated again! I had done three more chapters the week after my exams ended but my computer got a virus and my user area was wiped to remove it, so I have had to rewrite a few chapters.

Preview: _Rule number one; never say that he misses who she used to be._

Reviews are loved. :)


	77. Implicit Rules

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **077. Implicit Rules**

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, it'd still be going.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**077. Implicit Rules**_

* * *

"Do not let me run."

Riza has dirt-and-blood eyes that scream of sin. The kind of thick mud you would get caught in, or churn the ashes of a friend into. She would walk into a fire just to see if he would let her, burn down her home because he wanted it to be so. Roy does not care. He likes the way she purposely misses trains to walk with him to the station with the Elric siblings, and when she smells of rain because she is the only one of them who could stand in it and live.

"You cannot kill her."

She is just a run of the mill swordswoman, but even they have a few petty tricks up their sleeves nowadays. Not that she cares. She was the kind of woman who would stare into the gates of Hell and laugh because anything coming out of them thought it could get to him; no matter if she was crying and screaming and terrified because that was not what mattered right then. It was only a matter of practicality.

"It will do Olivier some good to get hit at least once."

He smirks over her shoulder as the woman across the mound of Earth waits for the attack. Today she is hesitant. Normally the other blonde would cut off a few fingers, or crush a few hearts even without her sword – but Riza is an exception to the rules. She would set things in stone, made implicit rules to protect the country where there were none; and even though he is the one in the gilded seat Olivier is smart enough to know which one of them is really the person who keeps things running. The one who makes everything fit.

"You are jealous."

He jokes. He feels the muscles in her back tighten as he pauses a fraction closer. He has always known how to break down Hawkeye – _the only one who knows how to make her calm façade disappear completely_ – and no matter how accusatory she becomes, he will never admit to enjoying it.

"Why would I be?"

He lowers his head to her shoulder lovingly, as she enjoys her dog to do. He feels her twitch like lightning under him at the small instigation of contact. It is pseudo-intimate things like this that keep her in a state of not entirely trusting him enough to see her defenseless. If Olivier was really the enemy, her head would be blown off before she could instigate even the slightest bit of a connection.

"Because I sent her flowers, and not you."

He is only vaguely aware of the gun under his neck when the cold metal scrapes against his skin and Olivier walks away from the challenge as if that was what she expected all along. She is the only person who could get away with this. If anyone else held a gun to his head, they would be dead by now. Maybe it is natural charm, or that she is aware of how well she shoots; but he prefers to believe it is because she is the only one who could ever get close enough.

"You sent her flowers?"

* * *

Otherwise named 'Roy putting his foot in it, as usual.'

Yeah, so the preview went out of the window this time; and they are removing themselves henceforth. I keep losing what I've started and getting new and better ideas. I apologise.

Reviews & criticism greatly appreciated.


	78. Ideals and Truth

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **078. Ideals and Truth**

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Scar & Riza = life made.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**078. Ideals and Truth**_

* * *

It is a matter of uncoordinated space.

When Riza picked up the phone she talked about the way she missed waiting for trains with him and how it rained more than usual lately, so it was lucky he was away. He would survive that way. She told him that the office was emptier than usual without his voice echoing in the hallways where they used to meet, and how she did not like that people were actually getting the paperwork done nowadays. He had to laugh at that, but the noise was dry.

He scratches patterns in the log walls with his nails, traces the lines of age in the wood with his thumb. He uncurls the phone wire in his tired fingers. He told her he was sorry.

"About what?"

She asks. He fingers the fur on his collar and his hair and thinks of the way she would like something like this as an 'in memento mori.' He twists the cord into shapes he does not recognise and remembers the way she wore an oversized scarf in winter. She would not last two minutes out here in the endless whiteness. The never-ending emptiness between them.

"I do not know."

He can imagine that her face is drained even though she is trying to sound pleased for him. He can imagine her devising ways to get him back; more codes and cryptics and anything to keep their rebellion safe. But they have already been caught, and she knows; it is in her throat waiting to come out if only she dares to say it. He does not want to imagine her crying. He wants her to be better than that, and remain as emotionless as she is tucked away inside his head where he can remember her better.

"Where are you?"

Her voice finally breaks; and he knows she does not ask where so much as why.

* * *

I have always wondered how Riza found out about the exile, and I know I was probably told by the manga but I cannot remember it. But it always made me want to ask when I was younger 'do you know long distance relationships never last?' - forever the cynic.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	79. Underwater no Futari

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **079. Underwater no Futari**

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Riza's Grandfather & Pinako would have a wrinkled child named Caesar.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**079. Underwater no Futari**_

* * *

"You know, you would look good in a bikini."

Riza and Havoc turn to look at him as he says this, and although his male friend seems to want to salute this notion the look on the face of Hawkeye says otherwise. But today she cannot protect herself. A no guns, no alchemy 'military holiday' means she can only punch him; and she is nowhere near as fast without a rifle as she is with one.

"I will sue you for sexual harassment."

She threatens as Havoc chases Armstrong desperately to get away from the ensuing carnage. He pats her on the shoulder gently, a smirk on his face. They both know she would never try such a thing. Or at least he tries to convince himself of this notion, anyway.

"That is not sexual harassment, Hawkeye."

The fact that he has not removed his hand from her small shoulder is probably not helping to ease the deadly look she is giving him, but she looks kind of pretty when she pulls angry faces anyway. Not that he would ever tell her that; teasing her is his favourite past time.

"Really? What would you deem sexual harassment then, Mustang?"

Really, he smiles brightly; asking just gave him the opportunity. Sometimes he thinks she just walks into these things for his amusement, the way she acts so sensibly although she knows arguing with him will only make things worse. That is, until she shoots him. But a defenseless Riza is a good one, and he will only get this opportunity once. Repercussions be damned.

"Oh, I am not sure. You know, you would look even better with no swimsuit at all."

* * *

I think this collection sort of needed another joke, fluffy piece. Lately everything else I have written has been quite dark and melodramatic, and so on and so forth. Because yes, I do believe he would say something like that, and yes; Riza would murder him for it. But it would be beautiful. Even if this does not necessarily stick to the theme.

Reviews & criticism would be appreciated.


	80. Catergorise

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **080. Categorise**

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Olivier would be Queen.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**080. Categorise**_

* * *

She categorises normality.

"You are different."

Riza tells him, her voice hushed. Sometimes, though it is rare, she speaks to him like this. Like he is a star cradled in the curve of her tongue. Roy thinks that she would keep him that way, a beam of light stashed under her pillow until the morning; if only it did not disappear by then.

"Why?"

Roy asks, tracing the burn mark on her back with aching, tired fingers; knowing that she should have freckles there for him to play constellation with instead. He imagines the world on her skin: Andromeda, Lyra, Orpheus. Raw earth in tumult against the sunlight when the beautiful moon went down because they could not see such beauty anymore.

"Anyone else seeing this would kill me, Mustang."

His hands trace the blackened sun and he wonders if this means he will leave any imprint on her. He feels as though he could run his fingers along her bare bones and find years of untouched dust when he retreated, coating his skin and leaving his imprint on her as a reminder of not being there to stop her from becoming a formula to everyone. She had not deserved it. Part of him believes he has done this to her, that he is taking her away; but every morning she gets up and sees only him, as though he is the last shining thing remaining – and he cannot take that away from her.

"That is no different to this, if you really think about it."

She smiles wanly, the light escaping. He wonders how this is possible, how years of her are possible. She is a paradox, a cruel joke in the existence of her father. But he understands. He knows that she is wary. The fingers that caress her back can just as easily burn her. To her, the human condition would be a sickness if she could bare the alternatives. People have only ever made her suffer.

"You are not killing me."

He is, he does not say. He is just doing it in a new way. Others gave her smiles, sharp and taut like the edges of knives. She fell into the significance of what was on her skin, and not the significance of herself. He has already decided he prefers the latter. This is why when she had offered to follow him, he had not refused. It is only her that keeps him with some semblance of normality; she stops him from falling into neat little categories like rebel and special and different.

"Love in itself is murder."

He would feel her smile across the continents like an age old warmth, the undying light of a star. The ironic thing was, nobody here would know when a star died – people only found out when the light was suddenly gone three hundred years later. He wants to make her feel less lonely like that. He presses a soft kiss into her shimmering blonde hair and prays she understands.

But normality cannot fit into neat little categories when she does not know what it is.

* * *

I imagine the first moment Riza let him see her mark to be something like this. I cannot see Roy only ever wanting her for the secrets because he did not leave her behind afterwards; and even in the end he has not abandoned her. On a side note, Min – I hope you understand what I mean now. How can we ever hope to decide what is normal and fit it into neat little boxes?

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	81. Footsteps

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **081. Footsteps**

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Greed would be cannibalised to make a tasty roast.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**081. Footsteps**_

* * *

She walks in empty spaces.

Between the words, between worlds – _he'd joke about it like this, but the both know it is not funny when their world is splitting at the seams into another_ – and after becoming a weary traveller, she waits. She is patient. He laughs because she is always waiting and he is sick, because the word patient is ironic when you are one and you are trying to be calm.

"Blind in one eye."

He comments casually, re-adjusting the seemingly obligatory eye patch he has awarded himself with. Her feet tap out a beat on the floor, libretto – polka – falsetto. Her movements have become his guide, a pulse of life; she maps out the beating of her heart with her footsteps because now he can only half focus on her face. Next life, he thinks, he would rather have a stethoscope.

"We will work around it, Sir."

Then there it is again. The inane movement of her feet and a hazy blur of blonde as she moves to peel an apple for him. He wonders briefly what would happen if he took a stethoscope to himself, if he would hear the same lifelines set out; if she would hear the same as him. But it is silly little things like this that keep him distracted. It is foolishness that makes him remember. He recalls his anger.

"I want to see you."

He says, more frustrated with himself than anything. The funny thing about her is she carries on going. He supposes it is how she stays sane. She maps out her answers with the song she makes. A steady beat. Four bar rhythm, he thinks idly. Then it stops. She takes his hands; and he feels her face. The world will only be like this for a couple of days until he regains half-sight, he knows, but he cannot help but resent himself for this anyway. Until then, he passes his fingertips lightly over her face, searching for the source of the rhythm. He wonders if his sight is going to get worse in a few years. He wonders if she could love a blind man.

"Sir -"

She begins, but he raises a finger to prevent her from continuing. Her feet begin to move again, although this time it is from the slight agitation of being treated like a child. An interruption. He smiles for the first time in a week, and searches for her cheeks; then kissing his fingertips places them upon her cheeks once more in the most gentle manner he can manage. He feels her flush.

"Sorry, I was listening."

She says nothing, but the tapping continues. She maps out the bruises, the cuts, and the sight he has lost within her rhythm; and he enjoys her life as she plays it out for him like a beautiful sonata.

Where she steps, he will always follow.

* * *

Sometimes, I feel Roy having bed rest when he lost sight in the film was annoying; as it was not very accurate of what genuine fear people hold when they go blind. His genuine terror in the manga was much more accurate. But at the same time, either way, I am certain that Riza would see him through it resolutely. He needs her so much sometimes that he becomes the one who follows.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	82. Words That Fade Away in the Chaos

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **082. Words That Fade Away in the Chaos**

Disclaimer: If I owned Full Metal Alchemist, Riza would be in the mini skirt army.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**082. Words That Fade Away in the Chaos**_

* * *

If you look carefully, you can see it.

Roy is tired. The years have been kind to him, but he is still far too wise to look young. He has seen too much, and Riza should know; he is not the only one who can barely sleep. Yet he is beautiful, as he has always been, and he is still shimmering beneath the surface. Glitter waiting to be lost, trapped safely in between her pale fingertips and palms because some things are better off not being free.

But still his crowd roars for him, although he is the grizzled lion. They would cheer for anyone if they thought it would benefit them. But this is his dream; and he has achieved it and he will always shine brighter than a thousand diamonds. She cannot hold herself back even as he turns to give her a wary smile and her tongue is churning ash in her mouth even as the words leave her.

"I do not know what to tell you to make you stay."

Maybe because there is not anything. He turns and enters back into his chamber, smiling briefly at her in the flitting light filtering in through the window panes. She wants to tell him these days are peaceful, these days are golden; but they are not. They have left their rebellion behind. They have lost whatever beauty they possessed because they have slipped into domesticity. Without rebellion, they have no fire; and the lines of what is correct and what makes them fit are blurred.

"I could not hear you, Hawkeye. Did you say something?"

She raises her hands to his cheeks in an effort at redemption. He is the returned prodigal son - _or something like that_ - in this world at least. But she stops before the contact. She knows that he understands. In winning, they have lost. They no longer have purpose. Guidance is nothing when you cannot keep control of yourself.

"You will always be the same to me, Hawkeye."

He tells her. To him she will always be Riza; a kid with a bag with an old leather strap, an awkward teenager smelling of gunpowder and burnt flesh, an adult with a beautiful smile and endless eyes. And she knows even now, even when they have nothing else to fight for, he will remain because it means at least he will be left behind with her.

They speak with words nobody else can hear.

* * *

Some people can just read each other. It is like you have been waiting your entire life for that person, even if you only just met them.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	83. Crowd

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **083. Crowd**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**083. Crowd**_

* * *

"This is a stick up."

Riza is toting her gun – _all for Riza and Riza for all_ – at the man sitting behind the desk of the bank, her face completely calm. She chose the one furthest from the capital center to give herself time, a response period of twenty minutes. She did the math and packed her bullets in and was out. It had been a week without food, and already Roy was failing to keep up. Of course, he would never condone crime; but in this case it was a necessity.

"Do not make it difficult for yourself. This gun is loaded."

She could see his frantic hands scrabbling for the panic button. But the crowd around them has wisely hit the floor. For all the men in there more than twice her size, the only one who looks remotely defiant is a child in the corner; and the man in front of her does not hesitate again once she has caught him out.

"I do not want to hurt you. All the money you have on hand, please."

Then again, she probably would not hesitate either with the barrel of a buretta aimed at her face. He loads the money from his desk silently into the briefcase in front of him, but makes no move to defy her orders. She grabs the briefcase, and walks through the parted crowd; and as soon as she steps out the door and on to the street she runs to the closest manhole cover to swing beneath the streets. Just in time, she hears the unmistakable sound of the army police beginning to fill out above her, their standard issue rifle butts scraping the floor as they handled the instruments poorly. Roy comes into view, his disappointed face barely visible in the dark.

"I have made baby Elizabeth a gun wielding criminal. Another reason for the death sentence."

He is not pleased in the slightest, and her cheeks flush a deep shade of scarlet. Well, he had the time to plan out how they were going to survive; and instead they lived like sewer rats, his taut muscle and firepower ebbing away from the lack of nutrition and the damp. Soldiers could not be held in the rapture of a weak commander.

"You would not be of any use if you starved before we even got started."

He sulks, but says nothing in retaliation; although she knows payback will come. His sarcasm makes it evident. When she dares to surface again it is with her jacket collar pulled up and a wig to disguise herself, and although there is a brief moment of panic when she thinks the baker recognises her, it quickly passes. Better her than Roy, a traitor to the cause. She would get a lashing and years in prison. He would get the death sentence. She returns with raisin bread, and after some hesitation from a week of not having rich food, cream cakes. His favourite. Hopefully it would make some peace between them.

"Have a cream cake."

He finally breaks his silence by offering her the sweet. She accepts it gingerly and reluctantly takes a bite. She instantly regrets it. Although it is delicious, she had been right; it is too rich after her diet of the past week. However she persists, glad for some form of nutrition.

"There is cream on your lip."

She tells him as she looks up, and he is watching her wit amusement. His grin becomes wicked, and he reaches over to grab her cheek before kissing her. He runs his tongue along her lips, smudging the cream across them. And when he finally stops, she sits shivering and cold from the moment of heated contact.

"That will teach you not to steal."

She frowns. It is not a punishment if she enjoys it.

* * *

I know this one is a bit abstract to the theme, but I have not updated in forever and this needs to come to a close. So close and yet so far from finishing, and it has been going on for years. I'm starting to feel a bit bad about it.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	84. If Only You Would Turn Around

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **084. If Only You Would Turn Around**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

**084. If Only You Would Turn Around**

* * *

Riza, of course, is a radiant bride.

Too bad she is not his bride, Roy thinks sullenly. Her hair casually coifed and down the way he liked it, her dress plain enough for her to stand out even more. It is not the wedding he would have given her; ordinary and unremarkable except for her. There would have been fireworks, silver and gold and anything she wanted. But as it is, she is standing next to his friend; and Havoc looks at her like he is the luckiest man alive. Roy resents that he is.

If she would turn around, she would have seen the thunder in his eyes. It would only be a glance as this minister droned on, and she would realise her mistake. She told him once she did not even want to get married, not in this world. There was too much death for that one small bit of happiness, and possibly a new life. This, he has convinced himself, is a marriage of convenience rather than a marriage of love.

And he is the one who loves her. Then in a glorious moment of hesitation, she does turn. She is not and never will be a damsel in distress, but she looks flustered. Her cheeks are red, what others would mistake for a blushing bride. He knows better. She is uncomfortable with this. Her eyes catch his, and his mouth turns to ash. He had promised himself he would not do this. He wants her, from that look she wants him as well; but she chose this. Or maybe she just could not say no, for despite her killing she was not cruel. It has always been a necessity.

"I object."

Afterwards he realises they are at the part where the vicar is asking for objections. He says before he can stop himself. He stands in his ridiculous penguin tuxedo looking at her, like nothing else matters in the world; and before he knows it he has grabbed her hand and made her a runaway bride. If only she had not turned around. It would have made things easier.

But as it is, she is smiling; and he knows he would not have it any other way.

* * *

I actually really like Havoc as a character, and I apologise to any of his fans for the treatment he receives here. But it would not be Roy & Riza against the world then would it?

The next chapter will follow on from this one.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	85. Surprise Attack

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **085. Surprise Attack**

Note: This follows on from the previous chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**085. Surprise Attack**_

* * *

Currently, Riza is running through the streets in her wedding dress.

And to top it off, not with the man who was to become her husband that day. Roy is pulling her by the hand and fast, so fast she almost cannot breathe, his ink coloured dark hair flicking behind him in the wind beautifully. The man who has always been too good for her, too smart and powerful with his angled face and perfect smile has falsely saved her from her own wedding like a black prince. There are no white horses, no faeries or dragons. A surprise attack consisting of one person: him.

"Surprise."

He says weakly, caving finally just inside a graveyard as his legs begin to buckle and his breath runs into the cold air in streams of smoke. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but cannot even answer with a question as to why he would do this. The answer is so obvious that it cannot be true. It has always been there, right under her nose; too close for her to believe in such a thing. So he kisses her. Because she does not know what else he can do to make this better. There is no turning back. There is no apology.

"Do you have an idea what you have done?"

She finally manages. He nods vaguely, clearly aware of what will happen. The Führer interrupting his friends wedding to run off with his right hand woman. It would be on every news station, every magazine and news sheet; and he was going to look just as bad as Bradley before him. Without all the murdering and superhuman powers, of course, but still pretty awful. Betraying someone who had helped him; and she would be called every name under the western sun for not turning back. She leans her head on his shoulder.

"Destroyed what I have worked for my entire life. But that is ok."

She frowns, a storm cloud written across her features. She would appreciate the sentiment and the gravity of what he had done for her, if only she had not been there with him. A year on and she could swear there was still dirt under her nails. A year on and every news outlet had been surprised by the announcement of her upcoming nuptials. This had been what they had expected, albeit less dramatic. They had wondered how her fiancée could stand it, being second best; being nothing but a replacement for the man she was with behind closed doors. Nobody could compete with Roy Mustang. She had dismissed it as just a part of the rumour mill, but now she had verified whatever they wanted to say.

"This is not ok."

She is sitting on a gravestone on her wedding day when she is currently supposed to be saying how much she loves another man and how she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. Leave it to Mustang to completely destroy her sense of normality the minute she got it back. With him, things could never be easy.

"I did it for love, Hawkeye."

He still cannot even call her Riza. Or technically, as she would have been, Mrs Jean Havoc. She sighs, and before he can kiss her, she captures his lips with her own. Of course she loved him back. She always would, and if this was the only way to be with him she would take the chance with all she had. What they have done cannot be undone.

She could live with it: of all the women in the world, he had chosen her.

* * *

Again, I apologise to Havoc fans. But this was very tempting.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	86. Syllogism

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **086. Syllogism**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**086. Syllogism**_

* * *

In preparation they train, shadows moving in perfect symmetry.

And when the dust clouds fade she always stands battered and aching but grinning, beautiful and alive. They have nothing to protect anymore. The city thrives by itself; the rebuilding work goes along with no problems except for the occasional bout of rain. But still they fight, although they do not know for what. There is nothing more to defeat, nothing more to kill and sacrifice for safe politics and the harmless people he stands for. They are the last ones standing this time around.

"What now, Hawkeye?"

Her hair spins, the shadow barely touching his but the connection still there. The fire narrowly misses the spun gold locks. Not one singed hair. The barrel of her gun scrapes his chin. He has always loved sparring with her. For all her rules and absolution, she fought spitefully; and he preferred it this way. She said it was to prepare him for whatever was coming. Personally, he knew it was her way of getting him back for all the paperwork he had dumped on her over the years and was still sending her way.

"You lose, Mustang."

She moves to pull the trigger of the empty gun, and he jolts backwards to the ground, pulling her legs to take her with him. That would have been her win if not for that. She lands awkwardly, and he is better prepared for the landing. In one movement she lands face first in the soft sand of the military training room, and he is above her, hand burning the back of her neck. She squirms uncomfortably. She does not like it when he gets this close, let alone touches her. This brings them to a stalemate which she begrudges strongly.

"I think not. Although I appreciate this view."

He grins as she rolls over. She is without a doubt the only woman he has ever though of as truly attractive. She has the cold, aristocratic beauty of her lineage but it has been softened greatly by her common mother and the pain her father has caused her. Unfortunately, she does not seem to ever notice the way he looks at her; and this is confirmed when instead of getting another gun to his chin she smacks him barehand; a hard punch for a woman so much smaller than him. He slumps ungracefully, and she pulls herself from beneath him as though it is not worth her time. Dusting her clothes down lightly, she grins in victory. She knows the affect she has on him, although she would never dare to act on it.

It is too bad that he forgets how much she hates losing.

* * *

Roy can take a beating, of this I am sure. He has probably been on the receiving end of a few smacks more times in his story than most.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	87. Memories

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **087. Memories**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**087. Memories**_

* * *

In all the time Roy has known her, Riza has rarely spoken of her memories.

Somewhere in the back of his mind she runs in her garden, finding bugs in the grass and rubbing dock leaves to calm her sore skin. She never went beyond the fence in those days. If she had, it would mean a hiding on her part. It was not as painful as everything else she experienced, but she would always avoid the wrath of the man who sat in his study; muttering incantations and formulae, watching his daughter from the corner of his eye. For her, there would be no freedom beyond the bars of the cage. At age eight, there was no life beyond this home with her father, his apprentice and the nanny. There was no escape.

Then at thirteen, there is Roy. He has watched for five years as she has become more and more confined. There is no more running in the garden, only her screaming and burnt flesh; only her bedroom and looking outside to the sun. She grows pale and finally he gathers up the courage to see her as more than the progeny of his tutor, and see her as a young girl who keeps a rifle under her bed because she knows there will still be worse to come. He starts with a baptism of fire, and as most things burn and they runs through the fields; for the first time in five years he hears her laugh. And it is for him. He loves her for it even now.

"I will never leave you."

He grabs her around the waist, and kisses her roughly in the dark. His alcohol addled mind is replaying the last twenty years, the years since he has known her. But he tells the truth; in all this time they have barely separated at all unless it has been forced. There is no existence without her, nothing before her that is more important than her being there. She has filled his memories with her being; everything seeps from her and paints his life with beauty. She makes everything worth remembering.

"Shut up and sleep, Mustang."

She will not listen to him, not like this, but he means it. Still he does not let her go, and eventually she gives in; sleeping next to him curled into a ball. Hayate does not move to protect his owner, and even then Roy thinks the dog knows more than he does. But he is warm and comfortable in his stupor, and he presses his head into her back. Riza, who could never defend herself, not even from him. Riza who he would gladly burn everything for if she would only say the word. Riza, whose memories she will not gladly remember although he has been in them over and over; smiling and being her friend and never letting her go.

He is surprised that in the morning, he does not wake up alone.

* * *

It surprises me that they will never admit how much they need each other.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	88. Given Name

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **088. Given Name**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**088. Given Name**_

* * *

The White Queen.

He first hears the name vaguely whispered through the halls; the _bloody_ queen, the white queen and her dog, the cold princess of the army base. First, he thinks they mean Olivier from up in the mountain strongholds. But the comments run silent when he enters, the names ash on hostile tongues; and eventually Mustang realises that they mean Hawkeye.

"They are calling you their Queen."

She who only associates with the women and his chosen few, who treats everyone with polite indifference. In all the years she has spent here with him, she knows perhaps thirty names of those around them. She sets herself apart from them with her beauty and skill, and only treats him any different. Perhaps they knew before him that a King needed a Queen to make his judgment wiser. Or more simply, the most likely reason for the way she came across was his affection for her. It set her apart from them. This was the very reason they loved her, despite all the blood she had spilt; if she was good enough for their popular leader to set her apart, then she was more than good enough for the rest of them. She answers this with a shrug, clearly unabashed by the name. After all, it is only a name.

"Sticks and stones, Colonel."

Of course, it means nothing to her. She continues with the latest batch of paperwork he has piled on to her desk, forging his signature where appropriate; ticking boxes and stamping to maintain the weak burecracy he was supposed to uphold. In a way it is cruel, as though she has no choice but to support him. As though she is beneath him simply because he will associate with them, and she will not. They have noticed the way he touches her arm and lingers close to her, and how she does not return the small gestures. To them, it is obvious that she has charmed him; and petty names make it sting less that he would chose a pretty woman over the men that have defended him just as much.

"Hawkeye; if I offered you the right hand seat next to me as the first lady, I sometimes wonder if you would take it or simply laugh in my face."

She looks up at him blankly, barely registering the implications of such words. Her lips part invitingly and he turns away from the stare. She tempts him like this; she has tempted him for years like this. A young Roy and an even younger Riza on the run, her becoming a woman while he watched in his awkward early stages of adulthood. When he returned from the frontline bathed in blood, she was the one to hold him. She soothed the fire and pain and anger. They could never understand the sacrifices she has made.

"Of course, but not as first lady. You could never love me, sir."

The implications are obvious – it has been too long, too many years of friendship. And even though she may love him as he loves her, there will always be a brief moment of hesitation where he is scared to give her what she gives him. This time, he does not make excuses; but simply leans forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead. It is a genuine gesture, and unexpected; she is flustered from the break in the rules, embarrassed by his soft acceptance of her. To him, to call her his Queen would be the ultimate honor. Nobody else could take that space; it would always be reserved for her and only her.

In the years to come, he knows she will accept without hesitation.

* * *

A little bit of old school Roy & Riza, before the war; before the cruel end. There can only ever be one true Queen for a King.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	89. Ultimate Weapon

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **089. Ultimate Weapon**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**089. Ultimate Weapon**_

* * *

"I cannot believe that you would blackmail the leader of your country."

In retrospect, Roy Mustang knows that this has been a long time coming. Havoc moves lazily towards him, bending his head closer to that of his friend and pulling out the foremost photo in which the younger version of the Führer slept naked, the rough cotton blanket from his army days barely covering his tanned skin.

"Think about my offer. You can have all the copies if you just do as I ask, Roy."

Not only had his friend kept the old image without his knowledge, it was against army regulations to be uncloaked and unarmed even in sleep due to the cold temperature and dangers. He had made allowances for himself on the grounds that his alchemy pushed his body temperature forward by yards at times. Not only that, but this image could turn up in some distasteful ladies magazine and put his political career in jeopardy. He let out a low, throaty growl.

"Traitor."

The door clicked open as his very attractive childhood friend came in, balancing a precarious stack papers in her arms. If Riza saw anything out of the ordinary with the two men sitting so close, she said nothing about it. As much as he wanted to hate Jean Havoc at that moment, he had to admit, the man had a point. She had always been there for him. There was nobody else he loved just as much.

"I will be leaving now. Nice to see you, Riza."

Havoc silently left the room, leaving the copy of the image in front of Roy as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Riza nodded courteously to him as he exited. Asking her to dinner as Havoc had demanded of him would over complicate things, force her into a position he did not want to be in; as well as giving the tabloids more to gossip about. They thought him a ladies man; he thought himself a tortured soul denied of the one woman he actually wanted. Details, details.

"So Hawkeye. I was wondering if you would like to attend dinner with me, you know, as more than friends."

He breaches, mentally cursing Havoc for all it was worth. For a moment, she stares at him silently, no expression crossing her face. She is not on the receiving end of a cruel joke, but it is close enough. Usually he could sneak in and steal a woman easily. But asking her out is more awkward. She does not want him like he wants her, and Havoc knows as much. This is for his humiliation, for the leader to be knocked down a few pegs. He can feel his cheeks glower at the thought, Roy Mustang rejected by the only woman he ever actually wanted.

"I thought you would never ask."

* * *

Sometimes, a little bit of blackmail can be helpful to those who need a kick to get started.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	90. Hidden Feelings

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **090. Hidden Feelings**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**090. Hidden Feelings**_

* * *

"This should not be a celebration."

Riza murmurs to him. Roy agrees, nods his head silently. They won a cruel war by slaughtering civilians and women and children, and this is their reward. A masquerade night of languid pleasure which they are either too young or too bitter to appreciate. He smirks coldly at the irony; masks may shield their faces, but they will not dull the nature of the pain they have inflicted. They will not hide the blood on the hands of their war heroes; they will not cover up the horrific genocide of a race which they have taken part in. It is true when they say history is only ever written by the victors.

"At least you look like a princess, or something."

He returns, and Hawkeye looks positively affronted. When she was a little girl, she had not wanted to be a princess; she had just wanted to escape her false home. He had made that dream come true. Why be a woman turned on by her own people - _with too much power and responsibility being led to a guillotine with sharp panic setting in but bound with nowhere to go_ - when she could be a soldier.

"We killed all those people and now we are supposed to enjoy it."

Her sneer is just as vicious as his. She had traded her aristocratic beautiful dresses and made up face where other women saw beauty and glitter for war, because where they saw glory she saw responsibility no amount of love could ever make her want. And Roy, Roy and his fire and the guns she had were far better than that. It was power, but she did not need to control it. At least now, she saw where she had made her mistakes. He loved that in her, that she never wanted more than that.

"It does not have to be about that for us."

He tells her. Just like one of them, she had been raised by people who were not her mother; and had gone to bed in a cold manor house that had no lights at night; no way to see herself out. But he had been there; and now he had led her to war, to the ends of the earth; and at least although they are not celebrating murder like all the other people here they can learn to celebrate for her. Because she needed it more than he ever would. After being stopped, he has learned to live with the guilt for a higher purpose; this is what she has been doing her entire life just to survive each day. His fingers catch the edge of her mask, and she slaps them away, irritated with the notion of celebrating the death of an entire race of people.

"You know I do not like to hide things, sir."

She answers curtly. He thinks her a liar. For all this time, she has lied about what has happened between them. The war has made them close, too close, and in those nights in the desert he went to her; dirt smeared and bloody but needing companionship. She had given it to him, desperate for something other than the smell of gunpowder and military grade vanilla soap. Nothing could make them clean, so they made themselves as common as the supposed barbarians. The upper classes always were hypocrites, he mused. In the corner of the room with nobody looking, he catches her lips softly with his. He can feel the tears of anger under her mask, and when he finally stops knowing everybody has chosen to ignore his rule breach for this one night, her cheeks are burning. Of course, the only hidden thing is not political views; but them. Their feelings are deemed inappropriate, for now. He will change this.

"Not all of this is politics, Hawkeye. Some of it is us. It always will be."

* * *

Because not everything is about politics. People do things for love that can never be understood.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	91. Kiss

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **091. Kiss**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**091. Kiss**_

* * *

At first, he lingers early just to see her arrive.

He has not seen her since they parted from the war. And still she arrives every day at the same time, fifteen minutes early to the dot. Like clockwork. His own fault is that for all this time, he stumbles over his tongue; not saying a word, afraid to acknowledge her existence. Yet all day she sits in his office, silent, going through the mountain of paperwork and picking out the really important bits for him to sign.

"You will have to talk to me eventually. All the women do, Hawkeye."

She nods, but makes no comment. In fact, barely anything passes her lips. During lunch, she sits alone in the office and continues working; indifferent to everyone, even him. In her breaks, she shoots; and the officers down there remark to him that she has the sharpest shots they have ever seen. He smiles vaguely at this, knowing that she has not changed. Perhaps this is her way of coping with him leaving her behind. But he had brought her back to him, just as he promised. It had taken years, but she was his right hand woman again; and yet, she would not so much as accept his existence. Except perhaps for Maes and Havoc, she speaks to nobody at all. She will not make him any different.

"You look sad. You should smile more."

He remarks on the second week, a Tuesday. She has still been ignoring him, polite enough and answering requests and important questions; but she shows him no companionship. He has become just another face in a sea of faces, and unlike the other women around him, she has shown not the slightest bit of interest in him. They have been friends a long time ago, but now he wants her to see him as more. As someone worthy of her affection, worthy of anything; because everyone else acknowledges him. Why would she not do the same? It was irking him to no end.

"Of course, sir."

But nobody smiles when they are not happy. People seek attention and say their smile is false, that they are putting it on for everyone else to make the world carry on; but those people do not know what sadness is. All the world is a stage, but Riza will not be an actress, not for him at least. He stands, and makes his way over to her desk. He stands in front of her, and yet she still does not look at him until he slams his hand on the papers in front of her, sending them billowing to the floor. She frowns.

"Do you find me distasteful, Hawkeye?"

She looks at the man in front of her, a shadow of his former self. She stoops down to pick up the colour coded papers, rearranges them, and purses her lips. She had said she would always be there, watching his back, but he had not bothered with her for years. She was almost an afterthought to all the women here, the one he left behind. The only one he never wanted. It hurt her pride, but at the same time she was closer than any of them would ever get. Simply putting it, Mustang had irritated her by his ignorance.

"Unfortunately sir, yes, I do."

So prim, so proper. Of course. He laughs a little, and leans forward to put a soft kiss on her forehead. Small Elizabeth who used to steal his shoes is the same as always. She dislikes the way he acts, and so for her, he inwardly vows to tune it down. She is worth more than a thousand of the women who have shared his bed in the past few years. He knows this will break the silence, it always has with her.

She could never know he had been right there waiting.

* * *

I imagine Riza would not enjoy being left behind. Small imaginings.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	92. Happiness

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **092. Happiness**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**092. Happiness**_

* * *

Finally, Roy Mustang had his dream come true.

His one small perk as reward to himself since becoming leader, the one tiny detail Hawkeye had objected to: the miniskirt army. Today the law would be set in motion. His subordinate would come to the office in the new dress code, a minimal skirt which would not cover her shapely legs. This, he mused, was what being on top was all about. Not the power or gifts, but rather the small perks such as her. In a skirt. A short skirt at that. He grinned languidly. Unfortunately, she had other plans.

"Hawkeye, you are breaking the dress code law. Please see to it that you change for lunch."

Then he saw her grin. He did not like that grin. It was a smirk that read that she was very much going to wear trousers and there was nothing he could do about it. But it was law. His law, in fact, and she had never been one to ignore the rules. She beamed happily.

"But sir, if you read the paperwork; you would know that I am allowed to wear what I see as fit for purpose. The law states that on grounds of sexism, I may wear what I feel comfortable in; be it miniskirt or trousers, as may male employees of the national army."

Though _Armstrong_ may have a surprise for him on that front, her smirk read. He groaned, wishing that for once he had handled the paperwork rather than allowing her to do it for him. Even his signature on the paperwork for the law had been forged by her. Sure, it made it void; but admitting that now to his advisors would only mean the entire law became nullified.

"Please, Hawkeye."

She had refused, point blank. Though after lunch, he returned to a surprise. Apparently Havoc had some incriminating things against her, because during the break she had been not so gently persuaded. In fact, it was more than a surprise; bent over his desk putting the papers forward, the military issue skirt rode slightly too high on her rather curvaceous hips and – _oh sweet life _if that did not make him believe in a God he did not know what would. She tipped back on her heels though, patting the skirt down just as he fully entered the room. He knew it had not been done as a favour to him, but still, the view was rather becoming.

"If you say anything sir, I will be forced to shoot you."

All Roy could do was stare at her legs and smile, overcome with happiness.

* * *

I do love giving Havoc a little bit of a spotlight. Roy finally got what he wanted anyway. This is meant to be taken in jest, a little harmless bit of fun really. A real miniskirt army would be incredibly ill fitting.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	93. Shackles

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **093. Shackles**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**093. Shackles**_

* * *

Riza is proud even as she stands before a firing squad.

The revolution has failed; and she has become like all the women that powerful men had loved before her. What had they been but mail order brides from further East, speaking a different language, shunned for their beauty and killed for choosing the wrong man to love? If only she had loved him. But no, she does not regret it; she has done it for the people and been condemned by them. For an aristocratic woman who joined the army, it seemed fitting.

"I am only a figurehead. I do not control the revolution."

She whispers to the wind, defiant in the face of death. Riza does not stand before them as a queen, with her heart racing in panic and no way to escape; but as the woman Roy has always known, unafraid of the pain because she has felt it all before. Even with her hands bound, she is still the commander of this situation; and she will not fear her demise for anyone. She knows a gun better than all of these men before them, and she does not pity herself for dying by what she has used to defend herself since she can remember. It is a funny irony.

"I regret nothing."

She shouts, as arrogant as the day is long because she refuses to go quietly, and as they raise their guns they hit the ground. Just in time. She gasps, unaware that she had been holding her breath; and begins to laugh. She has not even got a gun, and yet there are bullet holes in the neck of every one of them. Looking up to the walls surrounding the area, she sees why. Mustang stands just as defiant as her, clearly uncomfortable with the shackles on her wrists, surrounded by marksmen and women who have been with them for a while. He ducks under the metal bar and slides down the small dip towards her, and runs over to grab her in a firm embrace. This, she thinks, made it all worth while. Not knowing he would come back.

"You did not honestly think I would leave you in shackles to die, did you?"

He uses his fire to sear the chain between the cuffs in two, leaving her with awkward bracelets. He is nervous, later she finds this is because they only have twenty minutes to get out of there before reinforcements reach the outpost where she was supposed to die; they had not expected him to go back for her. And finally, she cannot hold it anymore. From a mixture of shock and thanks, she kisses him. The others turn away, and he returns it. She has come to realise that for her, death is not a question but a certainty in this war. She cannot fight alchemists with guns and a dog, hope as she might.

"Thank you."

The only way to end a revolution is with him.

* * *

I know a lot of people would probably do something more lemon-ey for this theme, but I would like to stick to a T rating; and I had already begun to think of 'what if' in terms of a failed revolution. I apologise to those expecting otherwise.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	94. From Yesterday

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **094. From Yesterday**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**094. From Yesterday**_

* * *

It is the anniversary of the death of her father.

"I still love him."

Riza tells Roy, quiet but truthful. He remembers seeing her back in their teens, the alchemical code she had hated so much; the burden of a knowledge she could not understand and hating her father for it. But still loving him, despite the pain and anger she held towards the man. He knows how now, he is the only one to understand it, and still she is almost wary of this. She knows he will not misuse the alchemy as her father had, but still the pain is raw. When she asked him to burn it afterwards, it had been necessity; protection from what she did not want to know, and still now avoided. She kept no mirrors in her home.

"What he did was wrong, but we all love our parents."

Roy, of course, had barely known his own. Maybe this is why he understands her a little more than others. He pats her head demeaningly, and she gives him a cold look. She hates to be treated as a child, but sometimes he feels that this is the only way to keep her around. To distance her is to keep her close, because if she got any nearer than she already had he would not be able to prevent himself from telling her everything. As much as he wants her to, she could not forgive him everything. Of this much he is certain.

"Nature is cruel that way."

He should hope not. He places one hand protectively on her stomach, thinking that of all the women he had ever met; she is the only one he could stay with, the only one he would ever even consider a family with. One day, he wants a child, a girl with her dark eyes and his black hair and a smile just as pretty as hers; and he does not want that child to despise him for anything. Not that he would tell her that.

"Love is human nature."

He tells her, and she looks up at him; unhappy but smiling thinly because he always knows what to say. He was there when it begun, and he will be there when it ends; and telling her otherwise would do nothing to alter that fact. Of course, if love is human nature; loving her is only normal. Anyone would.

He just hopes that one day their child will forgive him for not telling her sooner.

* * *

I cannot imagine Roy wanting children with anyone but Riza. Maybe it's the affinity.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	95. Now

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **095. Now**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**095. Now**_

* * *

Roy is not Führer.

But this, he thinks he can live with. Tonight is the night after the end of the revolution, and they must celebrate. And though he cannot see her, he knows that Riza spins through his barely furnished apartment shining brighter than a thousand diamonds, his beautiful Queen dancing only for him. The only thing in the living room is a sofa and some leftover food that had been dropped off the day before, and her, filling the air with permanence and expensive perfume he did not care for but found himself not so much minding on her.

"Come here."

It is no longer a command, but a request; though she had never listened to his commands anyway. For a woman strung up on rules and order, she sure knew how to ignore him as her superior. Temporarily, she complies, and sits placidly cross legged like a child between his thighs on the sofa. After sixty six plasters he can still feel the marks across her skin, and when she twitches slightly he knows he has felt a bruise. At least now her hair is not dripping blood from her neck, although he thinks it will scar. A permanent reminder of how his ineptitude could have killed her. She had said she did not mind, because she always wore roll necks. But that was an obvious excuse, something failingly said to dissipate his guilt.

"You would be a terrible medic, sir."

She comments. He sighs; she is in her twenties going on sixties. She even had the acidic black humour of the elderly. Still, he finds the salve in his pocket and rubs it on to her sore arms, and eventually she rolls up her shirt so he can rub it into her back. She had swatted his hands away from her legs and hips, so he knew his had to be only the half of it. In a sudden pang, he thinks briefly how he has marked her just like her father and a strong wave of revulsion at his actions courses through him. He had not been the one to cut her neck, but he had not stopped it from happening.

"That is ok. I am happy as I am. Plus, I still have a beautiful woman with me."

He acts cheerful enough, but he knows she is saddened. A tremor runs through her body, and he knows she is feeling the same guilt as he is. She had not done her job of protecting him; his loss of sight was a testament to that fact. And though she will be scarred, that changes nothing; his loss of sight is a whole new challenge to overcome for him; and his anger at is may threaten his goals. She turns and presses her forehead against his, a cold moment of clarity for him. Her skin is still warm beneath his touch.

"Can we just be normal, Mustang. Please."

Always so formal with him, even now. It is a plea he chooses to ignore. There is no more normal, not anymore. Instead, he leans slightly more forward and presses his lips to hers as gently as he can. He has never called her beautiful, but she is. And this breaks every rule in the book, he knows, and she would hate not to be the model soldier; but tonight, in the moment, she does not refuse him. Too much has happened.

For now, she is his.

* * *

I cannot imagine things just carrying on as before after the end of the manga. It seems like such a long time ago now, but it has barely been a year. Still, here is to hoping.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	96. Tomorrow, Too

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **096. Tomorrow, Too**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**096. Tomorrow, Too**_

* * *

At the time, he felt the panic settle in her bones.

Riza was fifteen and standing in her bathroom, covering her chest with only her hands, back turned to the mirror and head on her shoulder to see the cruel markings. All around her she had spread rolls of gauze like candles in a religious ceremony; and rolls of linen bandages and endless things to cover herself. Even then, Roy could tell she was ashamed of what had happened. With her cropped boyish hair and feminine body, she had been a pretty teenager; but now she found herself terrified of her own skin.

"I am sorry."

He whispers like a mantra, a chant of protection. But it is already too late. Her father had marked her skin, and she is sad, horrified by the reflection of her back. She had been a simple child, sheltered from the world, naïve in her upbringing; but perhaps this is the start of her understanding of how life is not always fair. He had thought at the time how maybe that would mend her skin, like the spell of an alchemist, but it never would. Instead, she looks at him blankly, too sadly for a girl of her age. His black eyes flutter softly over her body like burnt moths. There are no words to make this better.

"It is not your fault. You are too young an alchemist, too young."

The implication is obvious. She thinks he will become like him. He frowns. No, he could never do that to his own child. Riza had volunteered for it out of necessity; she could not see anyone else bare the pain; no other child could carry the burden of the sin of such a man. To her, it is just numbers, formulae; a riddle in a lie trapped in some pretty pictures. The only difference to a normal tattoo is the danger it held, and the way it burnt her skin. Even now, she does not want to understand it. It is too much. In her youth, she cries.

"You know I never could."

He tells her, and slowly edges his way across the bathroom; careful to not upset her ordering of medical supplies. Today, she is still as pretty to his as she has always been; as pretty as she was yesterday. And tomorrow, she will still be radiant in his eyes. His hands shake at the collage of words and math marked into her skin while her own lay over her chest, her shoulders turned in, nails frayed and bitten in painful terror. But when he finally places his quaking fingers on her shoulder she recoils, and cries even more.

So for that night they sat like strangers, and years later when she shows him the scars; it is like looking at her that night; and her eyes reading desperate, alone.

* * *

Teenage Roy and Riza. I do not think I have had this in the 100 drabbles yet as a focus, but I felt it should be mentioned. Their reaction to the scars could have been horrible, but pulled them together more than anything ever could.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	97. If I Die

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **097. If I Die**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**097. If I Die**_

* * *

Maes had always told him everything.

To Roy, he used to explain math and poetry in terms of people; by the length of an arm and the beat of a heart that could only ever belong to Riza. With her as an example, he condensed formulae and equations with the beauty of old Western tragedies. True to her part, Riza beat out things that were not understandable like nothing. She shoots him glances like infinity, and Maes had always told him if he were to die – _if _– that would be one of the two things he regretted. Not living to see their son marry his daughter. Roy had laughed at the thought of a young boy with an older woman, the thought that he would not be around. The laughter had turned to ash in his mouth when as usual his friend had been right all along.

"If I die, you get pretty much everything."

He tells her, his face streaked with blood and moonlight. Of course, his aunt gets much of it as well; and he loves his aunt dearly, but she is not Riza. With one smile on her symmetrical face when she was thirteen, he had decided he loved her by design. She was perfect. Her lips part slightly, surprised.

"I do not want your money, or you to die for that matter."

If only it was as natural as that. He cannot be like her, full of logical answers and flatness and honesty. But he wants this to exist in unbound spaces, for the sake of existence, and although she would deny him that and he would never ask for it; they had fallen into a strange friendship. They never got too close. If he touched her bare skin, she would pull away. It had been this way for a while. Since Maes died, everything seemed sad to him. Before, he had begun to expect that reaction from her. Now it carries gravity, like ancient air and he feels if he asked her if God was real she would say no. She always used to be such a believer for him.

"Promise me that wherever we go, you will not die."

He asks. He knows it is something which nobody can promise; there is no control over such matters. She stares up at him. Even with flecks of ash on her cheeks and mud in her hair, she still looks so soft to him. Maybe it is that they have just started fighting, or maybe it is that he has seen that what they are trying to kill is something superhuman. Either way, he is already fearful for her. She is the best sharpshooter he has ever known, but the bullets melt through them like they mean nothing at all. Though she is only a few years younger than him and the bitter world has changed her, he can see still how young she is. Too young for this.

"You know that I swore to have your back."

It is an evasion. Perhaps she knows even then that there are no promises in their existence, that she will lay gasping and dying while he watches and be saved; but never by him. At this moment though, she is looking at him like he is so small, and so beautiful; and his heart aches for what he cannot be. If he could give her everything, he would. Without hesitation. But for now, with a dull ache in his chest he turns away.

He cannot shake the feeling that without her, it all means nothing.

* * *

I wonder if Roy could have pulled off what happened at the end without Riza sometimes.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	98. After The Rain

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **098. After The Rain**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**098. After The Rain**_

* * *

The stars belong to her.

The rain has ended, the fireworks and celebrations she disliked so were over; and here Roy was, with Riza beneath the clear night sky. Really, they are not as different as she would like to believe. Her eyes shine like jewels as she looks over them, the constellations from her childhood she had loved – _Cassiopeia, Andromeda, too many things to name_ – until she had seen them used in alchemy to judge when and where and how. Beauty was converted to math, and she no longer understood the language. It had been his fault; but still it was under them that he kissed her first on the night her father died, an awkward teenager. She would not speak to him for a week after. He had expected as much.

"I do not want to become like you, Mustang."

She says it like an afterthought, a prayer. She is jaded, bitter as him for the blood they spilt; and yet she cannot bring herself to blame others for it. They had been her choices. She loves him, and he is beautiful; but she will not become him. Even without saying, she knows his secret; she knows that he is far worse. He likes everything dangerous, until the storm comes. Then he runs to her. He cannot sleep without her at night, his traitor of a mouth calls out in his sleep; the cry of the restless just looking for a hand to hold.

"I should hope so."

He answers. At twenty six he is garnering pleasure out of the counter initiative with the hunger of a lion. Every time when he is not with her, he leaves. Every time a woman has said she loves him, and he leaves her with silence; he is desperate for Riza, with all of his empty heart, and not in the least bit sorry for it. He traces the constellations in the few freckles on her skin when he thinks she is not paying much attention, and thinks she would not be half as beautiful if she ran blindly into war like he did. He hates the blood and pain, but it is a matter of survival. They cannot fight what they know nothing about.

"I hate it when you scream."

She says, almost informally but still trying to make this about him. He wants to ask her what it is he has been yelling, or sobbing rather, but he does not know if he should know. He thinks her afraid to touch him right then, because her hands are shaking; but he is hoping that is just the cold and not fright for what is to come.

"Everyone has nightmares, Riza."

Just not as vivid as his. In his sleeping mind he runs through deserts bloody and sunburnt; the man with the scar shouting for all those who he has left as ash and cinders; and Riza stands just at the edge where the sand seeps into grass, too far away to reach. And he needs her, the whole forest of trees behind her pine for her love, but she turns away. Disgusted. Even with a gun in hand and cloaked in her military robes, she cannot abide what he has done. Yet he always awakes with a start, runs his tongue over his dry lips and she is there watching.

"It is not the nightmares I fear. It is what comes afterwards."

The not having anything to leave behind except for a small apartment, a dog and him.

* * *

I always imagine Roy having terrible nightmares. It is like Riza becomes a coping mechanism overnight after the first war.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	99. Welcome Home

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **099. Welcome Home**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**099. Welcome Home**_

* * *

When Riza was young, she had wanted to fall in love.

She thinks in her youth that there will be rose petals, there will be stars lined up all for her; but then comes the alchemy, the tattoo, the bitter taste of disappointment. She had not wanted to let Roy go at the time, because she did not know what to do without him. Then a glimmer of hope, a military card and a gun. All she had was an old leather and pleat backpack and her determination. Now she knows that love is when she answers a call from a thousand miles away just to hear a voice. She had sworn not to love an alchemist, but she found herself stumbling all over herself for one.

"What is wrong with me?"

She mumbles to Roy. He looks at her, her hair the colour he had always hoped for. Dull marigold sweeping from jaw to waist, just the right length to make her feminine. Still, with dirt and mud and grime on her she is pretty; and just for him. Even being on the run - _breaking the rules she had sworn to uphold_ – does not seem to change her. Her cheeks are a dull red, and he finds himself thinking that then even though there is so much pain in the world there are corners of things that cannot be anything but right.

"You are beautiful. Beautiful women always love the wrong people, Hawkeye."

He tells her softly. They have to want to get better, to get over people; and even now he wants her so much and he knows she wants him too. So she cannot. Treatment would be tearing her away to stop the coin shaped bruises on her skin, stop the cut cheeks and legs and hands, stop the anxiety and constant stench of gunpowder. They want to have to stop. But even now, she is shaking and fearful. Even now she cannot accept this breach.

"I do not love you, Mustang."

She needs her father, or more accurately herself, to be the biggest source of pain in her life. He should have been out on the street, begging for anyone but her. But for now, this small cabin out in the snow on the way to Olivier is where he is. And he is her home, where she is always welcome. She despises it. He is waiting for her to remember the summers when she was naïve, when she read poetry and did not stray beyond the gardens of her home, when he was all that existed. Like now. Denial is not a pretty thing. He smiles at her placidly.

"No, no, of course not. Not yet, anyway. But I want you."

But she does, oh dear she does; and her desperate kiss means everything.

* * *

I can imagine that admitting love for Riza would be hard; and Roy would just stand there waiting, teasing her until she did.

Reviews & criticism appreciated.


	100. Until That Day

Summary: _At the right angle, in a line of sight, one might wonder why he never stopped staring at her for so much as a second._

Theme: **100. Until That Day**

Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist.

* * *

**Angles**

* * *

_**100. Until That Day**_

* * *

"When we come back here, we should get married."

He says casually over breakfast. Even though neither of them will probably survive until that day. She has been aching all winter waiting for this day to come, the day when they will go underground and become a nasty rebellion she had never dreamed of; the day when she will say goodbye to him and become a piece held against him by Bradley. In twenty four minutes exactly a taxi will collect her, and she will be saying goodbye to whatever they have here. And she will want him to forget like he sometimes forgets her birthdays, because that will make his survival so much easier. But for now, she does not take these things into account; skirts over the fraternization laws and notices instead how sharp his cheekbones are in the sunlight.

"Ok."

It is not a yes sir, not formal, or even a flat out yes; but with a small crooked smile he knows that is the closest he will ever get to such an answer. Perhaps she will forget the feel of his skin scorching against hers even in the winter, how his hands danced fire across her back and then calmed it all with salve, how she frowned every time he so much as went near a woman and only he would notice; but that does not mean she will ever forget this.

"And this is not just a slap to him. I mean it, Riza."

He says. If the guards they will bring to escort her get burnt, that would be the biggest repercussion he could manage until they killed the man; but not this. This is not about Mustang and Hawkeye against the establishment, against the world; this is about Roy, and Riza, and how much he loves her. And how in every letter to the leader until that day, he will tap out the letter 'y' aggressively; and how even though she is going away it means nothing because he will fight and tear and scratch his way to getting her back. Her eyes flicker to the clock quickly. He licks his lips.

"They are running behind."

She remarks casually. He leans across the table, bread and toast and butter and jam be damned and kisses her. It feels like all the people on the street stop and stare, like everyone knows this is sacred; and he wishes she could stay right here, but as much as he loves her, he wants her to live. But then the guards are there, one minute and thirty seconds exactly late; and they are not pleased with the rule break or how they have to pull him away from her like some commoner instead of an army commander; and she is a bird flying south for winter, composed and as she is expected to act, not making herself like stupid. Then like an afterthought, he laughs and shouts just to see her try to contain her embarrassment. It works.

"We should have it in the summer, Mrs. Mustang."

* * *

Roy always was a show off.

Well, this is the final one. Wow. The last time this was updated it was 2011 before I finally added all these chapters I have been storing on. It started in 2007. It has been five years in the making for one hundred tiny little things about love; and how not to love, and how everything is becomingly so troublingly beautiful nowadays. I do not know if it is going to an art school or the aging, but my cynicism is becoming weaker lately, and finishing this feels like the end of an age. Half a decade has gone into this. But it is done.

And I hope everyone enjoyed it. And lastely, I can say this is it - _the end_.


End file.
